


i kill giants

by diasterisms



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Fix-It, The Endearment Kink Is Strong In This One
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21865801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/pseuds/diasterisms
Summary: In the end, she has to hand it to him— he'd always been an expert in taking her by surprise, and it would appear that he's chosen not to shake the habit even in death."Rey Skywalker?" There's a vaguely sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth. "Does that make you my cousin now?""It seemed like a fitting tribute," she says in wooden tones. Be it dream or vision, she might as well play along— draw this out until reality comes crashing back. Who knows when he'll come to her again as solid and as vibrant as this?"I see." Suddenly he's leaning into her, their faces so close together. "Tell me," he murmurs, his lips almost brushing against hers, "have you ever heard of the termkissing cousins?"She registers the smell of alcohol on his breath at the same time that his eyes flutter shut and he slumps face-down into her lap, snoring softly.You're alive,is all she can think at first, staring down at his head of lush black hair.Ben Solo is alive.Alive and very,verydrunk.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 3849
Kudos: 9336





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING: HERE BE SPOILERS FOR EPISODE IX**
> 
> *cries* I'll probably never be able to feel a single iota of happiness ever again, but if you think I'm going to pass up the chance to devote 25 chapters of glorious tropes and increasingly purple prose to how fucking hot redeemed Ben Solo is— not today, Satan.

In the end, she has to hand it to him— he'd always been an expert in taking her by surprise, and it would appear that he's chosen not to shake the habit even in death.

She stares, and she stares, and she stares.

Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina in Mos Eisley is dimly lit, the air all fogged up with cigarra smoke and Marcan vapor and other poisons of choice, but there's no mistaking the broad-shouldered form and the waves of dark hair haloing the narrow face of the man looming over her little corner table. He'd appeared so suddenly that she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd materialized out of thin air. It would suit him, ghost of her past that he is.

However, he looks as made of flesh and bone as any of the cantina's grubby denizens. He blends in with them, too, dressed in the kind of jacket and shirt and trousers that she would expect from any spacer passing through Tatooine. And he's gazing down at her with the same intensity that she had known so well in the time before, although there's a certain haunted edge to it now.

Her knuckles clench to white around the handle of the mug of Jawa beer on her table. If he's not a ghost, then perhaps he's a vision— another temptation that she must surmount. Odd that, even after everything that had happened, there's a part of her that still finds it hard to believe the Dark Side could be _this_ cruel.

Time passes, measured in upbeat swing-bop rhythms and the muddle of assorted conversations taking place all at once. Finally, he blinks. His pale features smoothen out into an inscrutable mask.

"Rey Skywalker?" There's a vaguely sardonic twist to the corner of his mouth, but the sound of his voice is all she can focus on. It's as deep and as resonant as she remembers, and it drowns out everything else. "Does that make you my cousin now?"

Her cheeks heat up as she breaks eye contact to gaze into the depths of her mug. This is a dream, it has to be. There's no way he's standing in front of her, looking like a smuggler and acting like his usual sharp-tongued self.

"It seemed like a fitting tribute," she says at last, in wooden tones. Be it dream or vision, she might as well play along— draw this out until reality comes crashing back. Who knows when he'll come to her again as solid and as vibrant as this?

"I see." Suddenly he's hunching over the table, leaning _into_ her, their faces so close together that the tip of his nose pokes the side of her cheek. If he were someone else— if this were any other man— she would have struck by now. But it's _him,_ and so she is frozen in place. Feeling his warmth, breathing him in. "Tell me," he murmurs, his lips almost brushing against hers, "have you ever heard of the term _kissing cousins?"_

She registers the smell of alcohol on his breath at the same time that his eyes flutter shut and he slumps face-down into her lap, snoring softly. _You're alive,_ is all she can think at first, staring down at his head of lush black hair.

Ben Solo is alive.

Alive and very, _very_ drunk.

☾✩☽

It's not an easy thing, hauling a man well over six feet and built like a brick wall out of a crowded cantina. But Rey manages, with arms sinewy from training and hard work, and with a little help from the Force. Her speeder isn't equipped for two and so she has to lay him on his stomach behind the lone seat— draped over the hull like a sack of potatoes— and tie him in place with the same rope that she uses to secure goods to and from Mos Eisley.

Once she's satisfied that he won't fall off, she begins the journey home. This late in the evening and out here on the open desert, moonlight falls in sheets. The rolling dunes glow like silver fire as the speeder weaves through their midst.

It's so much like Jakku.

Home is a domed synstone hut perched atop a bluff in the Jundland Wastes. It comprises one large room partitioned into three— living area, kitchen, and 'fresher. The whole structure had been built over a cave, easily accessible via trapdoor and where Rey stores food and putters around in a makeshift workshop. She'd stumbled upon the abandoned hut several months ago and had decided to move in, away from the main hubs and settlements.

It's not that she'd _disliked_ her neighbors, but they were mostly married couples growing old together with hordes of kids running around underfoot. It had been too noisy, that's what Rey had told herself. Out here on the bluff, she's surrounded by nothing but the Western Dune Sea and a few moisture farms scattered on the horizon.

Now she's surrounded by Ben, his long arms loosely clasped over her front as she carries him into the hut on her back. His hair is prickling her neck, his breathing is slow and even in her ear. _Stars,_ but he weighs a ton, even if it's all muscle. She deposits him onto her tiny bed and he barely fits, his limbs hanging off the edge— she'll have to kip on the floor tonight.

Rey makes Ben as comfortable as she can, fluffing the thin pillow— not that there's much of an improvement— and then taking off his boots and his jacket. His black shirt is a tight fit, clinging to practically every inch of his wide chest, and the longing to just curl up on top of him and fall asleep stabs at her soul.

Instead, she telekinetically summons a chair from the opposite end of the living area and sits down beside the bed. She studies his face, her gaze lingering on each beauty mark that she'd once thought— for a brief and glorious moment last year— she'd be able to spend her whole life tracing into constellations. He looks younger with his features relaxed in sleep; he looks like the boy he'd never truly had a chance to be.

He looks... so _still._

Just like last time.

She's seized by a burst of panic, her hand shaking as she lays it on his chest. She's suddenly back in that place by the void and he's going to fade away at any moment, leaving her alone again—

His heart beats underneath her fingertips. Borne on the currents of the Force, it seems to echo through the quiet desert night.

Rey, the last Jedi, bursts into tears.

☾✩☽

Ben Solo's dreams are bathed in darkness and whorls of silver fog. Phantom silhouettes flicker at the periphery of his vision, their voices mere whispers in the mists.

The Netherworld is not a physical place, and these fragments are more memory than dream.

_**Foolish boy.** _ The speaker is female, vast and eternal, everywhere and nowhere all at once. _**Or fool for love, I should say. It wasn't your time yet.** _

He shrugs. He doesn't regret it, not really. He wouldn't have changed a single one of his last moments.

Something shifts in the silver-lit gloom. A faint outline of wings, bigger than the universe and all that it holds.

_**You have to go back. Something is coming. You cannot hide from your destiny.** _

"No," Ben says. He's surprised by his own vehemence. "I've done my time. I've made my mistakes. I have _fought—_ over and _over_ again—" His fists clench at his sides. "I would like to rest now, if it's all the same to you."

_**It's not all the same to me.** _ The woman sounds faintly amused. _**And it's not for you to decide.** _

The dream skips ahead. In truth, she'd told him so much more before the Netherworld began to dissipate as it is dissipating now, as he is pulled from it by some energy that he cannot yet name. In that moment where everything hangs on a splinter caught between light and darkness, the mists part and he sees her for who she is— catches a glimpse of green eyes and golden robes on opalescent skin.

_**Find her,** _ she says. _**You'll need help, so they'll go with you.** _

Before he can ask who _they_ are, he—

— wakes up.

He feels like a power drill has been taken to his skull; one false move would surely cause his head to break apart into several pieces. His mouth tastes like something small and furry died inside it and has been rotting away for the past several hours. The early morning sun is too bright, filling the hut with garish radiance.

And it really _is_ a hut. He would spare a frown for the shabby environs, but it hurts to even so much as blink. It hurts to do anything. This is the _worst_ hangover in the history of humankind.

Ben groans.

One of _them—_ his mother— is standing next to the bed, hands on her hips. "You were not brought back to life so you could drink yourself to death, young man," she admonishes, glaring down at him.

"It was just the one time," he sullenly protests. Upon landing on Tatooine, he'd been struck by the barren earth, the lifeless winds, and the general air of desolation that enveloped its inhabitants. The grime that clung to their clothes and to their eyes. It had quite literally driven him to drink, the thought of Rey settling here. The first glass of Corellian whiskey had been for that, the next several had been for his— _situation._ And the last one had been liquid courage, imbibed in a couple of brutish swigs after he spied her across the cantina, looking so thin and wan and lonely in white.

In retrospect, getting completely sauced before walking up to the love of his life who'd seen him die a little over a year ago... may _not_ have been the smartest move.

Leia searches his hazy memories of the previous night. She slaps one palm to her face, massaging her temples as if attempting to ward off a migraine of her own. "Stars, you're even worse at flirting than your father was."

Ben doesn't say anything. Leia sighs. "Well, now you've found her. It's time to get a move on. Galaxy needs to be saved, and all that." Her mouth twists in a humorless smile that is not unlike what he'd sometimes seen in the mirror. "Again."

"Yeah." Ben clambers out of the too-small bed, every muscle aching in protest. "Yeah, Mom, I know."

☾✩☽

There is a wound in Rey's mind that has been there since Exegol. It hasn't faded over time, but she's learned how to compartmentalize it, wrapping it up in layers of the Force and pushing it into a corner where it throbs with all the dull ache of an impacted tooth. The bond had snapped in half when Ben died, leaving her missing a piece of her soul.

Today, she wonders if things might be different.

She'd ended up falling asleep in the chair, her hand still resting on his heart. It had been torture to automatically get up at her usual time, the crack of dawn— she'd barely been able to tear herself away from him, afraid that he would vanish once he was out of sight.

But she knows a thing or two about hangovers, and he will need food to soak up last night's excesses. She's determined to provide something heartier than polystarch and the scraps of dried meat in the cellar.

She will take care of him, this time around.

First things first, though. She has to check...

Perched on a rocky ledge jutting out from the cliff side, Rey closes her eyes against the twin suns that are beginning to rise over the horizon. She coaches her breathing into the calm, steady meditation pattern, and then she finds the place where she'd stored the wound and methodically peels away the Force like she's peeling away wrappings of gauze.

It still hurts. But it's a pain that's— _fading,_ and she can sense Ben on the other end of it. Like a slow-acting anesthetic, he's gradually filling up the empty space where he'd used to reside during the war.

His Force signature is walled off, though, and her brow wrinkles at that. There's something he's keeping from her, which she'll have to ferret out. In due time. Maybe they have time now. Maybe they're being granted a second chance.

Rey doesn't insulate the wound again. Instinct tells her that what's left of the bond needs to remain open, to breathe so that it can heal. She can live with the ache until then.

For now, she sets off in search of breakfast, picking her way through mazes of reddish, wind-carved stone. While her lightsaber is holstered at her side in case of Tusken Raiders or the larger and more dangerous beasts, it's her spear that she wields for hunting. With it, she brings down a needle rat and a bladeback boar piglet that strayed from its mother, stuffing the carcasses into her net and dragging them up over the rocks. It's seven-thirty in the morning when she reaches the summit, panting and covered in sweat and sand.

It's bitter work, but it's nothing she's not used to. Her time on Jakku had taught her how to live in a place like this.

She skins, guts, and roasts her haul on spits, over beds of glowing coals. Even with the Force urging the flames hotter and higher, it still takes the better part of an hour to cook the meat. Needle rat flesh is tough and just this side of rancid-tasting, but it's a steady part of Rey's diet and she's acclimated by now. Ben will like the tender, milk-sweet bladeback, as long as she gets the doneness right.

She's slicing the meat onto a couple of plates when the threadbare bond stirs weakly. He's waking up— her other half is waking up and oh, _oh,_ it's so beautiful. Like a sunrise. She rushes through the remainder of her task with her heart in her throat, and then she enters the hut with her steps the lightest they've ever been.

Her first thought is that he's _certainly_ made himself at home.

Ben's lounging in one of the two chairs at the rickety dining table, nursing a cup of caf. He's patted his hair into a semblance of order and swept it back so that his face is unobscured, so that she can clearly see his eyes focusing on her as soon as she walks in. For a moment, there is a soft reverence in their star-cut depths, and it's the same way he'd looked at her when she called him by his true name and smiled at him and touched his cheek and thought, _This is it, it's me and him, we can be happy now._

She has spent countless nights alone in her narrow bed just reliving every second of that look. Crying herself to sleep at her memories of it. It hadn't gotten easier as the months wore on, and now— just as a tentative joy is starting to bloom in the wastelands of her heart—

— Ben blinks, and shifts his gaze to a point beyond her shoulder, a far more remote expression shuttering over his features.

What has happened? What's going on? She tries to peer more closely at his end of the bond, but she's clumsy and out of practice. His mental shields are impenetrable.

_He's hungover,_ she tells herself. _No one's in a good mood when they're hungover._ And, indeed, his complexion is sallow, a little green around the gills. There are dark circles under his slightly bloodshot eyes. Beneath his veneer of casual elegance is a certain obstinacy, the brunt of Solo and Organa combined. Although she's bursting with questions, she will need to be patient if she wants to keep the peace.

That's all right. Hadn't she always been very good at waiting, even back then?

She approaches him, bearing plates that suddenly feel like peace offerings for some reason. "I hope you're hungry."

Ben says nothing as she sets the table with cutlery and chipped cups of water. He remains unmoving in his chair as she sits in the one opposite. After a while of staring blankly at him as he looks everywhere but at her, Rey decides that if _he_ isn't hungry, then _she_ sure is.

When she tucks into her plate, he does as well.

The belated epiphany dawns. Leia had been the same way, not so much as picking up a spoon before everyone else had done so. It's _etiquette_ , which Rey has no knowledge of, which had served no purpose in the Resistance mess halls, but which a prince of Alderaan would undoubtedly be well-versed in. She comes to recognize more of Leia's table manners in his every move as their humble meal progresses in silence.

Rey is so shocked when Ben finally deigns to speak— so shocked to hear someone else's voice within the walls of her hut, period— that she almost drops her fork. "What is that?" he asks, scowling at her plate like it's committed some personal offense.

"Needle rat," she says. "Yours is bladeback."

_"Yours_ has _whiskers."_

She's starting to take offense at his tone. Odd how easy it is to fall back in. "It's a protein source same as any. A staple around these parts—"

"You live like this?" he blurts out, rage simmering behind his dark eyes. "In this hovel— eating _rats— "_

The way he says it is so crude that Rey can't help but flinch, and Ben's face immediately drains of what little color it had. "I didn't mean— look—" He falters. His hand inches forward, as if to reach for hers, only to pull back. "I'm sorry," he mutters, that same hand raking frustrated fingers through his hair. "I'm just— why Tatooine, I don't understand—"

Rey, for her part, understands too well. There is a space between them in the shape of the year that she had to live without him and of whatever it is that had let him come back to her. She is no longer the same girl he'd loved enough to sacrifice his life for. She doesn't know if she can ever be that girl again, or if he even _wants_ her to be.

"Maybe we can just finish eating first," she quietly suggests.

He nods, giving every indication of being chastened and relieved all at once. But instead of returning to his plate, he pushes it toward her. There's a generous amount of bladeback left. "I've had my fill."

"Ben," she starts to protest, "no—"

"Rey," he interrupts. "Please."

She stills.

And there's enough of a wryness to the line of his mouth and a self-deprecating awareness to his gaze that makes her realize he knows full well which chapter of their tragedy he's summoning with that one simple word. He's drawing a semblance of humor from it, and she wonders if he's inviting her to do the same. So that it will start to lose its power over them.

Rey takes a leap of faith.

"A novel approach," she quips as she spears a piece of bladeback on the tines of her fork.

"I knew it would work eventually," Ben drawls. "I just had to keep trying."

Her heart flutters at the fleeting half-smile that he sends her way. After shedding the mantle of Kylo Ren, he'd been so much more relaxed in his movements. More sure of himself. She had loved the Ben she'd come to know in those precious stolen moments after Starkiller Base, but the one who had finally freed himself— she'd wanted to spend the rest of her days basking in his light.

Maybe she still could.

She smiles back at him from across the table. She'll worry about mental walls and mysteries of resurrection later— for now, they're eating breakfast, and sunshine is pouring in through the windows, and she is living in her dream of what could have been.

Nothing else matters.

☾✩☽

Standing in a corner of the hut, two Jedi look on.

In these forms they come and go as they please, they can choose to manifest or conceal themselves at will, but at this particular point in time it hardly would have mattered. The living ones are too lost in each other to notice what else lies in the Force.

"Good grief," says the older one with the beard and the Core Worlds accent and the air of horrified fascination, "he's making an absolute muck of things, isn't he?"

"He's angry with himself because he wasn't strong enough to stay," says the younger Jedi, in the solemn tones of one who understands all too well. "Because he wasn't able to give her the life she deserved. He is... _frustrated,_ to be the instrument of destiny once more. And he doesn't want to have to let her go again."

"There's a reason for everything, Anakin. We'll just have to see how it all pans out— and help, in any way that we can." The older one looks around the hut. He had been conscientious in life, and not easily distracted, but nobody is immune to the occasional bout of nostalgia. "I do love what she's done with the place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chalmun%27s_Spaceport_Cantina/Legends).
> 
> [Mos Eisley](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mos_Eisley/Legends).
> 
> [Cigarra](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cigarra/Legends).
> 
> [Marcan herb](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Marcan_herb).
> 
> [Jawa beer](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jawa_beer).
> 
> [Swing-bop](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Swing-bop).
> 
> [Synstone](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Synstone).
> 
> [Jundland Wastes](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jundland_Wastes/Legends).
> 
> [Western Dune Sea](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Western_Dune_Sea/Legends).
> 
> [Moisture farm](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Moisture_farm).
> 
> [Netherworld of the Force](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Netherworld_of_the_Force/Legends).
> 
> [Corellian whiskey](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Corellian_whiskey/Legends).
> 
> [Tusken Raider](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tusken_Raider/Legends).
> 
> [Needle rat](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Needle_rat).
> 
> [Bladeback boar](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bladeback_boar/Legends).
> 
> "A bond between two living beings is not something easily broken. It is not a choice… it is like breaking a feeling. Like turning away from the Force. To break a bond, your feelings would have to change, or one of you would have to die—but even then, the bond wouldn't go away, it would simply… it would simply be empty, a wound."  
> \- _Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _incredibly_ touched by the amazing response to the first chapter of this story. We're all really going through it, but at least we're doing so together. ❤️

This version of him isn't cut out for being a man on a mission. No longer is he Kylo Ren, with a chip on his shoulder the size of legacy and driven by purpose, although it is purpose that had brought him out of the Netherworld and back into the physical realm. There are certain things that need to be accomplished but,  _Maker,_ all he wants to do is gather Rey into his arms and kiss her senseless.

He abstains, because there is something not quite right about her and he needs to get to the bottom of it first.

She is...  _less._ Less animated, less unwilling to put up with his shit. He'd noticed it last night at the cantina— how cautiously she had stared at him, how dull the tone of her voice. Even now, as they sit here at the dining table and he watches her eat, he's struck by how barely  _there_ she is.

It's almost as if  _she_ is the ghost who had been brought back to life. By someone who hadn't been very good at their job.

Ben's tempted to check her end of the bond, to discern for himself what is wrong. But that would mean lowering his own shields, and he's not ready for that yet. He's not ready for her to see what will happen— what  _has_ to happen— at the end of this new task that the Force has given them.

So, instead, he waits for her to finish eating, and once she has stood up to clear away the dishes, he starts to rise, too, planning to lend a hand—

"No," Rey says quickly, with such firmness that it roots him to his seat. "Stay where you are. You're— you're my guest."

He blinks at her determined expression, at the glint of challenge in her hazel eyes as she throws his own words back at him. "Come up with that yourself?" he can't help but tease.

"Why, have you heard it before?" Rey shoots back, and Ben laughs, and it's bittersweet, and he'd have done his former life differently if he could be given the chance. If he'd known that someone like her was waiting for him...

He doesn't pause to consider the ramifications of his actions— honestly, what else is new— when she walks past him on her way to the sink. He  _grabs_ her, pulling her in close by the hips, and he buries his face in her stomach as his arms encircle her tiny waist.

She's so thin that anger rises up his throat like bile. Where are her friends? Why is no one taking care of her? Why is she shut away on this  _dirtball—_

He hears the clatter of cups and plates being levitated to the sink, after which he feels her slim fingers carding through his hair. It's a balm to his temper— to his very  _soul—_ and for the next few minutes he concentrates on just holding her, just breathing in her scent of hot breezes and baked earth and honest sweat. She channels healing energy with every stroke and his migraine— already slightly alleviated by the caf and the food— vanishes completely at her gentle touch. He'd been glad to die with that touch the last thing he ever felt, with her beautiful smile the last thing he ever saw.

She'd given him peace, after a lifetime of fighting and voices in his head.

"I always wondered if your hair was as soft as it looked," Rey admits in rueful tones that break the sunlit silence. "It started the night you came to me on Ahch-To, after the cave. When you listened to all my fears and told me I wasn't alone. I often thought about how it would feel like to touch your hair— your face— ever since." Her right hand drifts lower, her fingers grazing the shell of his ear. He shivers at the unexpected spark of pleasure that ignites within him. "And I finally got the chance to— on Exegol— but then you— you—"

The rest of the sentence is lost in the hitch of her throat. He closes his eyes and tightens his embrace, nuzzling into her stomach. "I'm here now," he mumbles.

"How is that even possible, Ben?" Her voice wavers, relief and disbelief and hope and confusion warring all at once. "How can you be  _here?"_

He takes a deep breath. There's really no more putting it off. "Make yourself comfortable," he says, "because this is going to take a while."

☾✩☽

"What do you know about the Ones?" Ben asks when she returns to her chair at the dining table. It's not the  _first_ place she'd thought of when he told her to make herself comfortable, but she doubts plopping down on his lap would facilitate any sort of meaningful verbal exchange.

"Only what I've read in the Jedi texts," Rey says. "Legend has it that they're a trinity of exceptionally powerful Force users living on a planet called Mortis. Historically, there are some cultures that have worshiped them as gods."

"They  _were_ a trinity," Ben corrects. "The Father, the Son, the Daughter. They were destroyed at some point during the Clone Wars— in a cataclysm that claimed Mortis as well."

Rey of Jakku would have been shocked to learn that the Ones had been real, but she is... not Rey of Jakku anymore. She has walked with legends and fought alongside them; she carries them in her heart. And so she simply nods, and waits.

"I encountered the Daughter in the Mists-Beyond four standard months ago," Ben continues. "She told me that my time wasn't done yet, before pushing me out of the Netherworld. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a mining complex on the Deep."

It's a lot of information to process, although Rey can tell Ben's doing his best to be succinct. Her brain latches on to what was most recently given. "Why the Deep?"

He looks away for the briefest of moments— still long enough for her to realize that he's hesitant to answer. "As a spirit, her ability to resurrect others is not as potent as it once was. She had to weave parts of my life force from echoes of space and time. The Deep was the nearest inhabited world to..."

"To Exegol," Rey finishes for him. She hasn't said that name out loud in months; every syllable leaves her mouth like a thorn, splitting skin, opening old hurts. "Where you died."

_Where you left me._

The unspoken words hang only in the air, but Ben winces as if she's said them out loud. Perhaps it's written all over her face, the gaunt, hollow-eyed specter that she sees in the mirror. Something inside her withers at the prospect of his pity. He had loved her because she'd been his equal, matching him blow for blow. His fascination with her strength had always been such a tangible thing, and she doesn't want to disappoint him now— doesn't want to reveal that this year of grit and isolation has turned her into a shadow of the Jedi who'd defeated the Emperor.

But neither can she conceal the shred of vulnerability so painfully apparent in the way she says, "Four months?"

He'd been alive— alive  _again—_ for four whole months. She hadn't known, because she'd tucked away the bond. Why...

Why hadn't he come to her sooner?

Ben reads the silent question in her tone, or maybe in the arrangement of her features, or maybe she's projecting too loudly in the Force. Whatever the case, he hurries to explain. "I had to wait for the miners' supply ship to arrive. It was the only way off the planet. Then I stole a shuttle from the spaceport at Celanon City and flew straight here. I—" He swallows, his gaze finding hers again. In the early morning light, his eyes are the color of the trees on Takodana, where they had first met. The girl with the blaster and the boy in the mask, both of them running scared although she hadn't known it at the time. There were so many things she hadn't known. There are so many things she would have given anything to take back.

"I came as soon as I could," Ben says, a bear of a man crammed into one of her tiny chairs and looking so earnest, so plaintive. "I swear I did."

It must have been hell for him to be trapped in the gray mines of the Deep, and now she's making him all but apologize for not getting out more quickly. Rey bites down the urge to vomit at how selfish she is, at how small of a person she's being. "It's okay—"

"It's  _not."_ His voice thickens with frustration. "I told you that you weren't alone— I  _told_ you— and then I left because I didn't know how to stay and here you are, without  _anyone—"_

She leans forward, placing her hand atop his on the table. The language of fingers reaching out, intertwining— it's always been how they'd spoken to each other with no words needed. And now it soothes the frayed edges of her soul, and his as well judging from how he seems to calm.

"How did you find out I was on Tatooine?" she asks when they've both managed to gain a semblance of control.

He seems transfixed at the sight of her hand over his against the wooden grain. "Mom told me."

Rey hasn't seen Leia since the day she claimed the name Skywalker, although both the late General and Luke have tried to reach her a few times since. A part of her feels guilty for not answering those summons in the Force— for putting up her shields so that she won't have to see their ghosts— but that guilt is quickly eclipsed by how happy she is that Ben has reconnected with his mother.

"You can see her?" she says, gripping his hand. "What— what about Master Luke?"

Ben rolls his eyes. "He hangs around sometimes, too. It's a real party."

Rey huffs out a laugh. The corner of Ben's lips flicker upwards in response— only for a moment, only right before he turns somber again. "The Force sent them to help me. To help  _us._ Because something is coming."

Apprehension prickles down the back of Rey's neck. "What is it? What's coming?"

Ben holds her gaze for several drawn-out moments, his pale features so grave that it escalates the tension in the hut to a thickness that can be cut with a knife.

Then he—  _shrugs._ "I don't know."

Rey gapes at him. The wrinkle on her brow deepens with every second that ticks by until she's outright glaring. "What do you  _mean_ you don't know?" she demands. "How can you not  _know?"_

"Surely it doesn't come as a surprise to you that the Force was less than transparent," he sniffs, very nearly looking his long nose down at her. She decides right then and there that he is the  _worst_ of his parents combined. "There's something dangerous that's made its way into our galaxy and we need to figure out how to stop it. That's all the Daughter told me."

Rey bites her lip. It's a habit she picked up some time over the past year that helps anchor her while she sorts out her thoughts, although she's had to learn to be more careful after drawing blood on more than one occasion. "I suppose we can head over to the Core to ask Poe if they know anything. The Galactic Alliance's intelligence network is working overtime to ferret out surviving First Order cells, it's hard to imagine that they'll be  _completely_ unaware, if this is as big as you say—"

"It is," Ben confirms. He's staring at her mouth. She feels a slight pressure around her hand and glances down to see that he's laced their fingers together on the surface of the table.

Rey stops chewing on her bottom lip— she doesn't need to anymore, now that his warm, firm grip is keeping her centered— and what appears to be a mixture of disappointment and relief flashes in his brown eyes.

Before she can wonder at that look, Ben clears his throat. "So— Dameron's a politician now?"

"Him, Finn, and Rose, although not by choice," Rey says. "The galaxy was in need of leadership, and there was no one left but Resistance command." The few Republic senators who hadn't died in the Hosnian Cataclysm had either defected to the First Order or had been captured and killed during the course of the war. The current government is transitional in nature, made up of soldiers keeping the peace until worlds such as Naboo and Chandrila finish training the next generation of policymakers.

A shadow falls over Ben's face. She can practically see him turning the information over in his mind.  _There was no one left._ He may not have given the order to fire Starkiller Base's cannon, but he'd been complicit, and the blame for everything that had happened after he assumed the mantle of Supreme Leader rested solely on him.

_I don't care,_ Rey thinks with a swift and sudden fierceness, tightening her grasp on his hand. She pushes the words into his head, because they are too big for her body, because the emotion that fuels them is too raw for the act of mere speech.  _Ben Solo came back for me. I don't care about anything else._

Far from relaxing at her confession, he looks truly distressed— it lasts only for a second, the spike in his energy signature hinting at a wealth of some unimaginable pain, but then he's speaking again. "Why aren't you with them, Rey? In the Core?"

It takes her a little while to remember that they'd been talking about her friends and the new order of things. "Big cities give me the jitters. Too much sentient life crammed into one space. Coruscant, in particular, was ridiculous. I didn't care for it at all."

It's not a  _total_ lie, but Ben sees through it right away. "My mother must have taught you how to shut out external stimuli when needed."

"She did, but..." Rey trails off. How to explain to him that, in an ecumenopolis with a population of over one trillion, his absence had been magnified? It had been paralyzing to realize that, out of the thousands of souls that brushed across her consciousness on any given day, there wasn't a single one who would understand her like he had, who could fill the emptiness that he'd left behind.

She hadn't even been able to grieve properly. Her friends had tried their best, but they'd all known him as Kylo Ren, and any talk about Force bonds and missing pieces went right over their heads. So she'd kept the hollow ache and held it close, and then she'd returned to the place where she buried the lightsabers, and she'd decided to stay.

"City life just isn't my thing," she concludes, a bit lamely.

Ben frowns. "What  _is_ your thing, then? I know for a fact that it's not barren wastelands—"

"People need me here," Rey interrupts, for whatever good it will do. He's already seen her dreams of oceans, her awe at forests. He already knows this wasn't what she'd meant to become. "I defend them from raiders. I fix their speeders and their vaporators. I heal them when they're sick or injured. I—"

"Pass on the ways of the Jedi to other Force-sensitives?"

She snatches her hand back and regrets it almost immediately as something inside her weeps at the loss of contact. He blinks, and that same loss is mirrored on his face. "I haven't gotten around to that yet," she mutters. Now it's her turn to look everywhere but at him. "I'm worried I might not be any good at teaching."

It's a paltry excuse, and they're both keenly aware of it. She has the books, she has her lightsaber, she has time. Before Ben can say anything, though, Rey stands up.

"We should get going," she says, and— after a long, long while— he nods.

☾✩☽

His uncle is outside the hut, at the edge of the rocky escarpment, when Ben leaves Rey to her packing. He'd offered to help, but she'd told him in that adorably blunt way of hers that he looked like he could use some fresh air. And now he's here, on the bluff, wary gaze leveled on Luke Skywalker's ghost whose back is turned to him against the twin suns.

"Nothing has changed," Luke muses. "Not even the horizon, which never felt vast enough to hold all my dreams. I could be nineteen again."

"You're definitely not nineteen," Ben snipes.

Luke issues a rusty laugh, and there's still a hint of amusement lingering on his weathered face when he whirls around. "Kid... what are you doing?"

"Right now? Having absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Luke's mirth softens to fondness. Ben knows who he's remembering in that particular moment, and it cuts him to the bone.  _So much like your father._ It had been a tired old refrain even back then, in his childhood.

"I understand that you want to prolong this as much as you can," Luke sighs ruefully, "but the whole galaxy's at risk. It's so much bigger than any two people. It always has been."

A muscle works in Ben's jaw. "Tell her yourself, then, if you're so impatient."

"I can't. Not even your mother can. Rey's shut us out."

The revelation comes as such a surprise that the inane query leaves Ben's lips before he can think better of it. "Why?"

Luke raises a bushy eyebrow. "Well,  _I_ don't know, didn't I just say—"

"Ben?"

At the sound of his name wrapped in the dulcet notes of that beloved voice, he immediately turns in the direction of the hut, his uncle forgotten.

Rey has swapped out her rough brown hunting attire for the same white tunic and skintight leggings she'd worn a year ago. The passage of time and multiple washings have frayed the garments, but they're still snowy and pristine against her golden skin— such an alluring contrast that Ben is so,  _so_ tempted to sweep her into his arms and carry her back into the hut, where he'll lay her down gently on the stupidly small bed and kiss her all over as he peels away her white, white clothes...

"Shall we?" Rey prompts. "I was thinking, we could ride the speeder out to Master Skywalker's old homestead— to retrieve your mother's lightsaber, so you'll have a weapon— and then to Mos Eisley, where we'll take your shuttle to Coruscant. The  _Falcon_ isn't particularly spaceworthy these days."

"It never was," Ben quips. "Let's go." He starts off towards where he can spy the outline of Rey's speeder docked between an assortment of boulders that shelter it from the worst of the elements, but he just as soon comes to a halt.

Something's missing.

Without looking back, Ben reaches a hand into the empty space behind him. The way Rey doesn't hesitate, it's almost as if she's been waiting her whole life. Her fingers slip through the gaps between his, squeezing once, and he allows himself a small smile.

Perfect.

Hand in hand, they walk on, their shadows joined together on the burning sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Ones](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Force_wielder).
> 
> [The Deep](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/The_Deep).
> 
> [Galactic Federation of Free Alliances](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galactic_Federation_of_Free_Alliances).
> 
> [Naboo](http://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Naboo).
> 
> [Chandrila](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chandrila).
> 
> [Coruscant](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Coruscant).
> 
> [Moisture vaporator](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Moisture_vaporator/Legends).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I've not had the opportunity to respond to comments, rest assured that I'm seeing all of them and they are truly motivating me to update as quickly as I can. To address some issues that have cropped up, I can confirm as early as now that this fic will hold true to the happy ending tag. There will be some angst along the way, but these two won't ever be parted again, I promise.
> 
> This is just a short chapter before I head out of town for New Year celebrations. Given the fandom's current mood (#JUSTICEFORBENSOLO), I felt there was no better place to end it than on the note it leaves off of. I hope you guys will let me know what you think! See y'all in 2020!

Much like the one she'd used on Jakku, Rey's current speeder is what spacers would call an Ugly if it were a ship. It's cobbled together from scrap that she'd pulled out of junkyards and desert wreckage, as well as spare parts gifted in exchange for healing and repair work. The hull is a monstrous combination of podracer and Y-wing, with a flatbed bolted to the rear for cargo, and most of the engine once belonged to a skiff that had met its untimely end near Anchorhead Pass.

She can  _feel_ Ben's struggle to not say anything, but he eventually loses, as she'd known he would.

Love of her life though he might be, he's never learned how to shut up.

"My mother gave you access to the Organa vaults. You can easily buy top of the line."

"I prefer customizing." She only ever dips into that account when she's desperate. It's not  _her_ money.

Ben makes a grumpy sort of face that Rey shouldn't find so endearing. His eyes are wonderfully brown in the golden morning light as they dart from her to the single seat and back again.

"It'll be fine," Rey manages to force out. Her cheeks are on fire in a way that has nothing to do with Tatooine's suns. "Go on."

Ben shrugs, then jumps up to straddle the seat with a careless ease that she'd only seen in flashes, in the bond, towards the very end. Stray locks of dark hair fall across his forehead and he sweeps them back with boyish impatience, and out of nowhere comes a painful tug at the corner of her heart.

She still can't believe he's real.

Ben surveys the minute space between his body and the speeder's controls with pursed lips— lips that proceed to stretch infinitesimally into the tiniest of lopsided smirks. "Nothing for it, then,  _pateesa._ Hop on."

Rey hadn't thought it was possible for her face to get any warmer. "I... what?"

He cocks his head at her. "It's Huttese for 'sweetheart'—"

"I know what it means," she hastens to interrupt. "I just—"

She stops talking, unsure.

_Just what?_

She's been called terms of endearment before. Sarcastically, by merchants she's arguing with. Casually, by Resistance flyboys. None of those people had ever held her heart the way Ben does, and that makes it  _different,_ somehow. Rey's caught between embarrassment and some tentative, budding delight.

Ben's eyes widen as they take her in. They appear a little darker than they'd been a few moments ago. "You've gone as pink as a Tarisian rose," he sighs, a little too happily for someone stuck with a traveling partner who can't even handle a pet name. "Come here."

He holds out his hand. She automatically takes it and he hauls her up. Sunlight blurs him at the edges, and she feels like she's being pulled headlong into a dream.

☾✩☽

_Okay, so maybe I didn't think this through—_

— had been a common lament of Han Solo's that Ben never expected to be so freely echoing years later.

But he  _really_ didn't think this through.

Balanced precariously on the lone seat, he spreads his thighs wide enough for Rey to perch between them. It's not so bad at first, but the purr of the engine soon sends reverberations throughout the hull that— coupled with the way she moves as she steers them through the bluff's many twists and turns— jostles the curve of her ass against his groin.

For a man who'd resisted baser impulses his whole life and spent six standard months as an incorporeal resident of the Netherworld after that, it's the most exquisite form of torture to be pressed up against the woman who'd been a constant fixture in his darkest fantasies throughout the last year of his previous existence. Death and the Mists-Beyond and resurrection have not been enough to staunch his desire for her.

If anything, he feels as if his every nerve ending is live wire.

However, once they're on flatland, another matter takes up his attention entirely. It's the sand— stirred up by the repulsors, it beats against his face in a flurry of coarse particles. He screws his eyes shut but it gets  _everywhere—_ up his nose, into his mouth...

The speeder comes to a halt. Rey rummages for something in her pack, then twists around to face him. She'd slapped on a pair of goggles and pulled up her hood at the beginning of the journey, and now she's taken out a bunch of clean rags and is draping them over his head, wrapping them around the lower half of his face, securing them with knots. Her slim fingers work quickly and efficiently, but they are unfailingly gentle, nonetheless.

She's  _caring_ for him, in one of the ways that she knows how to. A lump rises in his throat.

_Beloved, let me take you away from all this,_ he wishes he could beg her.  _We'll go somewhere nice, and green, and you'll never know hardship again for the rest of your days._

But that's not why the Daughter had brought him back. And if he doesn't do as he'd been bid, soon there won't be anywhere nice left in the galaxy.

Although there will probably be  _quite_ a bit of green.

Once his head is swaddled in enough protective layers to satisfy her, Rey starts the speeder up again. Ben had thus far been using the Force to maintain his balance, but he succumbs to the wave of affection that has him curling around Rey's much smaller frame, his arms encircling her waist from behind as they coast over the tarnished expanse of the Great Chott salt flat.

It feels so right, to hold her like this. Like he'd been made to hold nothing else. The bond gleams an inviting silver along the edges of his mental walls and the temptation to lose himself in it— in  _her—_ has never been as great as it is now.

But... not yet. There might be time later as he nears the end of destiny's road, but not yet.

They disembark at the ruins of the Lars homestead. Ben removes his wraps, and it's the smell that hits him first. Earthy clay and sharp sodium, beneath which lies the musty undercurrent of decay. There is a flash of images across the surface of his mind— plumes of thick smoke wafting up into the scorched heavens, charred corpses at the house's door. There is a stirring in the rivers of time, ripples of Luke Skywalker's grief echoing through the years.

"This place is a graveyard," Ben tells Rey.

"It's where I buried the lightsabers," she says in wooden tones, slipping off her goggles. "Come, I'll show you—"

"I'll do it." The words emerge more brusquely than he'd intended; he squeezes her hip in silent apology. "Get back on the speeder." It's suddenly imperative to him that she rises above, that the unseen shadows do not cling to her a second longer than is necessary.

She arches a brow but complies easily enough. He reflects that their story might have gone more smoothly if only she'd been this cooperative from the very beginning— a foolish notion that he is quick to nip in the bud. He would not have preferred her any less defiant, any less of a storm, any less of who she is and what she had meant to him when he died and what she means to him still.

Her watchful gaze weighs at the back of his neck as he sets forth, stopping several feet away and closing his eyes, trawling for the hum of kyber hidden beneath the sands.

At first, there is nothing, and he grows mildly concerned that the sabers are no longer here. What was there to stop some eager Jawa with a metal detector from digging deep, after all?

"For goodness' sake, Ben." The note of frustration in Leia's voice nearly makes him grin. His mother had always had a temper to rival her husband's, although she'd masked it with diplomatic acumen and courtly graces. "Concentrate. Use what you were taught."

Right.

_The crystal is the heart of the blade._ The meditation comes back to him, providing a focal point as he continues to search.  _The heart is the crystal of the Jedi._ He can picture a younger version of Leia turning the age-old words over and over in her head as she constructs the weapon, as she attunes to it. He remembers doing this himself, under Luke's tutelage. Perhaps that is all the passage of time is— a family being mirrors of each other, from one generation to the next.

_The Jedi is the crystal of the Force._

The sapphire pulse of Leia's kyber illuminates the darkness behind Ben's shut lids. He stretches out his hand. He hears a rustling as the sands part to give up their treasure. A metal hilt glides into his palm, and his fingers close around it as his eyes fly open.

_The Force is the blade of the heart._

His mother is standing in front of him, with a sad smile that speaks of what has been lost and what could still be found again someday. She gestures at the lightsaber that he's now holding. "I gave it up because I saw your death at the end of my Jedi path," she says. "Maybe what happened at Exegol was what that vision had meant all along, or maybe there's another universe where I am a Jedi and you are a memory." She cradles his once scarred cheek. "All I'm certain of is that— in  _ this  _ universe— I made so many mistakes, Ben. But please— please just know that I loved you through all of them. I loved you until my last breath. I love you now, in the life after."

Ben nods, too overcome to speak. There are tears streaming down his face. Leia takes her time brushing them away, and then she's gone, leaving behind only desert air and silence.

He tucks the lightsaber into the holster of his belt, then wipes his dripping nose on the sleeve of his jacket. He'd never been a graceful crier, and he's still sniffling a little as he returns to where Rey is waiting.

If she's surprised by his tears, she doesn't say a word. Instead, his beautiful girl immediately clambers off the speeder and throws her arms around his neck. He crushes her to him as the twin suns bear down upon the land.

They stay like that for a while, lost in a place that's quiet and just for the two of them. Eventually, it's Ben who lets go first. "I'm all right now," he mumbles with an abashed half-smile, dropping a kiss on top of Rey's head.

She doesn't quite look like she believes him, but she nods. They board the speeder, and together they leave the past behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ugly](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ugly/Legends).
> 
> [Spacer](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Spacer/Legends).
> 
> [Podracer](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Podracer/Legends).
> 
> [BTL Y-wing starfighter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/BTL_Y-wing_starfighter/Legends).
> 
> [Skiff](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Skiff/Legends).
> 
> [Anchorhead Pass](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Anchorhead_Pass).
> 
> [Pateesa](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Pateesa_\(phrase\)).
> 
> [Great Chott salt flat](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Great_Chott_salt_flat).
> 
> [Jawa](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jawa).
> 
> [Traditional Jedi lightsaber ceremony](https://rpg.fandom.com/wiki/The_Blade_is_the_Heart_of_the_Jedi_%28Lightsaber%29).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! May your 2020 be amazing. Thank you so much to sassenoona for [this beautiful playlist](https://sassenoona.tumblr.com/post/189999317459) that I just can't stop listening to and chase-antics for [this gorgeous comic](https://chase-antics.tumblr.com/post/190078493859) based on the "You're my guest" scene from the second chapter. 😘

The truth is, Rey doesn't actually mind Mos Eisley all that much. It's noisy and crowded, yes, but not as noisy and crowded as Coruscant is, and it's practically a thriving urban paradise compared to the rudimentary outposts and desolate villages of Jakku.

"Lando calls this place the armpit of the galaxy," Ben mutters as the speeder cruises through the Old Quarter's maze of ramshackle buildings and sleazy kiosks. Hunched over Rey as he is, his lips graze the shell of her ear while he speaks; bursts of pleasant static crawl down to her spine from each point of contact. She's still thinking about how softly those lips had dropped a kiss on the top of her head out on the Great Chott.

But the mention of General Calrissian jogs another recollection— something Leia had told her once, the latter's Force signature heavy with a tortured sort of nostalgia as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her family.

"Speaking of Lando-approved nicknames," Rey says to Ben, "where'd you dock the shuttle, little starfighter?"

He pinches her thigh. It's a casual gesture of teasing reprimand that Rey has never experienced the likes of before, and she all but jumps up from her perch between his legs. No one's ever touched her the way Ben does— so freely, with such possessive affection. She's not used to it.

She never wants him to stop.

"Don't start anything you can't win," he chides,  _"sweetheart."_

Another endearment. "Ben," she protests faintly as she blushes again, and she can feel his smirk grow against her temple.

Keeping his hand on her thigh, he directs her to one of the 362 individual hangar bays scattered throughout Mos Eisley. The speeder groans to a halt outside the north entrance and the two of them hop off and walk in, Ben already rifling through his pockets for the credit chip which he'll use to pay the attendant droid.

But he soon freezes, and Rey does, too.

The ship that Ben had commandeered at Celanon is a Durotech  _Mneffe-_ class superluminal shuttle, an old model from the early years of the Galactic Empire that's comprised of a long central fuselage slung beneath a semi-circular wing. Standing in front of it— as if they've been waiting for a while— are five males of various species, each one sporting inky black tattoos and a mishmash of leather and armor plating. There's a gaunt, lanky Pau'an with pinstriped gray skin and jagged teeth; a sandy-hued Weequay with frilled jowls and sunken eyes; a bulky Gamorrean with sharp horns and even sharper tusks; a reptilian Nikto; and a statuesque, ridged-faced Falleen with long silver hair tugged up into a high ponytail.

The Falleen is wielding a bladed-trident, the Gamorrean a war axe. The other three have blasters, which they aim at the new arrivals the instant they see them.

"You're going to say it, aren't you?" Although Rey's deadpan question is addressed to Ben, her gaze remains fixed ahead.

"You know I am," Ben replies out of the corner of his mouth. "'I have a bad feeling about this.'" He takes a step forward, subtly placing himself between her and the group before asking, in much louder tones, "Which one of you is the attendant droid?"

"We scrapped it because it got in the way of us locking down the shuttle," the Pau'an sneers, unimpressed by Ben's cutting-edge wit. "Did you really think we wouldn't have a trace on all our vessels? How  _dare_ you steal from the Black Sun!"

The name of the notorious criminal syndicate rings through the air, but Rey is too incredulous to afford it any semblance of dramatic due. "You didn't scan for a tracker?" she bursts out.

Ben casts a long-suffering glance over his shoulder. "It's not as if I've had a lot of practice stealing ships—"

Three blasters discharge at the same time.

Rey draws her lightsaber, the beam of yellow plasma crackling into existence; Ben immediately ducks in response to the movement, allowing her to deflect the bolts— two of which bounce off the hangar walls while the last one rebounds on the Nikto who had fired it. He falls to the ground, dead, and that's all the impetus that the Falleen and the Gamorrean need to charge at Ben, who activates his own lightsaber just in time to block their attacks.

Rey leaves him to it, concentrating on the remaining blaster wielders. She splays out her off-hand to telekinetically knock the Weequay into a nearby pillar and then she runs at the Pau'an, her blade zigzagging in front of her as it redirects laser after laser. Once the Pau'an is within range, she leaps into the air and  _spins,_ kicking him square across the jaw before he can fire off another shot. He stumbles, dropping the blaster, which she doesn't take long to summon into her free hand.

Rey hears the Weequay comming for reinforcements in Huttese, the criminal underworld's lingua franca. She catches the word  _Jeedai_ as she whirls around to see him still slumped against the pillar but taking aim at her again. Rey's quicker on the draw, shooting him before he can shoot her, but it's already too late— the other members of the Black Sun are guaranteed to converge on their location any minute now.

First things first, though. The Pau'an has recovered, and he's coming her way with a knife.

It's not a fair fight anymore. If she kills him, it won't be in self-defense; it would be just killing him because she could. And  _that_ would be too close to the darkness that lives on in her veins.

Rey holsters the blaster as she evades the Pau'an's first slash with ease, then slices her empty fingers alongside the back of his head, stunning him with the Force. Once he has toppled over in an unconscious heap, she turns to help Ben.

The Gamorrean is flat on the ground, eerily still, blood oozing from his snout. It had been either a fist or an elbow rather than a lightsaber strike that did that, but Ben is currently making full use of the weapon as he tangles with the Falleen, blue plasma shrieking against the trident's sturdy prongs.

Trawling the currents of the Force, Rey detects the approach of a swarm of hostile lifeforms— the other gang members will be barging in from the south entrance long before she can bypass the shuttle's lock. She sweeps out an arm and the Falleen is lifted off his feet and hurled against the far wall.

"Time to go," Rey pants as she grabs Ben's hand and breaks into a run. Back towards the north entrance, back towards the speeder.

It looks like they'll be taking the  _Millennium Falcon_ to Coruscant, after all.

_If_ they can make it.

☾✩☽

The gangsters catch up halfway through the Sluuce Canyon. Distant roars pierce through the blood pounding in Ben's ears and he looks back to see an array of black assault speeders dotting the horizon that they're leaving behind.

"Now would be the perfect time to step on it," he tells Rey.

"This isn't a racing engine!" she snaps. "They're going to outflank us in two minutes, maybe less."

Ben pries the blaster free from the utility belt cinched around Rey's waist and starts firing— he picks off a couple of the nearest pilots easily enough and manages to ignite a third one's reactor, but that still leaves several more to contend with, and they're all too happy to start returning fire.

Laser cannons strafe the bone-dry earth in bright red shards, missing Ben and Rey by inches. There's enough space in the tiny corner of his mind that's removed from the situation to be amazed by the effortless way that they immediately fall into sync— her weaving to throw off their opponents' aim, him lining up shots during each split second that she holds still to the side. They take out another three members of the Black Sun like this, and then she's shouting at him to hang on tight as she accelerates, plunging into a narrow labyrinth of spindly rock formations.

The syndicate's speeders are faster, but Rey is without question the better pilot. As Ben clings to her for dear life, she darts to and fro amidst the spires in a lethal game of chicken, and one by one their pursuers are dashed against the rocks.

By the time they exit the Sluuce Canyon, they're down to two enemy repulsorcraft, and Ben's head is spinning, and he is— in all honesty—  _incredibly_ turned on by Rey's deft maneuvers.

Too bad that he's in no position to do anything about it.

Instead, he loosens his grip on her so he can continue shooting as they zip over the dunes. The remaining foes are much more adept at dodging, though, and he only manages another few rounds before the trigger produces nothing save for a hollow clicking sound.

Cursing under his breath, Ben tosses the blaster, prompting a squawk of indignation from Rey as she sees it sailing into the golden sands out of the corner of her eye. "What the— we could've just recharged that later!"

"I'll buy you a nicer one," Ben promises. One of the Black Sun speeders is now right behind them; he reaches out a hand and he  _concentrates,_ his fingers making a crumpling gesture. A wide section of the pursuing vehicle's hull crumples along with it, durasteel panels rippling away to reveal the circuitry underneath. The hapless pilot yells obscenities as he crash-lands in a blaze of smoke and twisted metal.

One left.

The hardest one to get rid of, as it turns out.

The lone surviving gangster is green-skinned and slight of build; although the upper half of his face is obscured by the visor of a black riding helmet, the saucer-shaped antennae poking out signify that he's a Rodian. He's tenacious, his speeder's cannons blasting away as he gives chase, and despite Ben's own reckless brand of flying he's starting to get motion sickness from the sharp, violent turns that Rey is forced to make in order to dodge the never-ending barrage of artillery.

Ben belatedly notices that she's driven them far north, away from her hut in the Jundland Wastes. Just as he starts to wonder what her game plan is, he spies an unusually large depression in the sands up ahead.

"Oh, my stars," breathes a familiar voice, and Ben whips his head around to see Luke sitting cross-legged on the flat bed with an expression that suggests he's enjoying himself immensely. "It's the Great Pit of Carkoon."

"Ben—" Rey starts to say, but he cuts her off as he finally realizes what she's up to.

"I'm on it." He waits for her to slow down before he freezes the Rodian's latest shots in place. The black speeder draws almost level with them as they coast over the banks of the pit, and then Ben's wrist slashes through the dusty air, redirecting the lasers to hit what lurks below.

An enraged, guttural shriek rings out over the Dune Sea.

The sarlacc  _stirs,_ rings upon rings of spear-like teeth blossoming amidst the shifting sands.

Rey fires up the thrusters, narrowly avoiding the massive tentacles that erupt from out of the abyss. The Rodian is not so lucky; he screams as the appendages wrap around his speeder, pulling it— and him— into the sarlacc's gigantic, waiting maw.

Luke shakes his head. "You kids are even crazier than we were," he remarks before fading away.

As the adrenaline slowly drains out of his system, Ben leans into Rey, winded from physical exertion and copious use of the Force. Tightening his arms around her midriff, he buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent until the sense of danger passes and calm is restored.

She steers them to the western border in alert silence. When the distant ridges of the bluff where her hut is located has come into view with no more Black Sun repulsorcraft swooping down upon them, she kills the engine and turns her whole body to face his. The smallness of the seat ensures that she's practically straddling him in this position, but he doesn't have time to think about  _that_ because her hazel eyes are glassy with anxiety, slightly red because she hadn't had time to put on her goggles. Her hands run over his torso in feverish search.

"Are you okay—" Her voice is so strained and choked that a part of him withers at the sound of it— "are you injured— let me heal—"

Her fear of losing him again is such a palpable thing that he would have felt it in the Force even without the bond. His hands fly up to her shoulders, his thumbs massaging soothing circles along the edges of her collarbone. "I'm fine," he assures her. "Not a scratch. I'm all right, Rey."

He's about to move in to embrace her, but she starts rooting around in her pack, a strangled sob tearing loose from her throat. He sits there, stunned, as her emotions roll over him like a tide. Anguish. Terror. Despair.

Exegol.

She's shaking all over as she pulls out the rags and arranges them around his head once more. Shielding him from the harsh sand and the sweltering heat. It's only then that he's galvanized into action, kissing her trembling fingers every time they drift within reach of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Ben mumbles. "Of all the ships I could have stolen— I should have checked for a tracker. I'm an idiot."

"You're  _my_ idiot," Rey says fiercely as she tucks the last fold of fabric, the last knot, into place.

☾✩☽

By the time they reach the base of the cliff where the  _Falcon_ is docked, she appears to have regained control, more or less. It's his turn to feel a little fragile as he is brought up short by the sight of his father's ship for the first time in ages.

It... doesn't look all that bad, actually. Still a piece of junk, but certainly in far better condition than he'd expected, considering that it's been rotting out here in the desert for the past several months.

"You maintain her regularly?" Ben asks Rey as they levitate the vacant speeder into the cargo hold.

"Whenever I have time and materials," she says, telekinetically popping the freight loading doors back into place with a flick of her wrist. "Mostly, I just do what I can to keep it from rusting over."

"You've done well. She doesn't look a day over five hundred years old."

Rey scrunches up her nose at his teasing, and Ben's heart skips a beat.  _Fuck,_ she's so cute. It's an odd thing to notice this late into their acquaintance, but their previous circumstances hadn't exactly afforded a lot of opportunities for her to make that face at him.

_Wait..._

He thinks about the forest on Takodana, and how Rey had glowed like a tiny sun against all that lush emerald green as she blasted away at him. Her nose scrunched up, her eyes fiery.

Yeah, she'd been cute even then. He just hadn't been able to properly appreciate it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinks, jolted back to the present. Rey's gaze is inquisitive; she has a few more freckles on her left cheek than she'd had back then. Ben shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking in a rueful half-smile. "Just remembering something."

☾✩☽

Ben is quiet as they board the  _Falcon._ Rey can only guess that, for him, it must be like stepping backwards through time. She knows he traveled with Han a lot before being sent off to Luke's academy. She knows he'd wanted to be a pilot, like his dad. These are the things Leia had told her during that long, long year of war, and even now Rey isn't so sure that the General hadn't found her completely transparent, hadn't peppered in anecdotes about Ben's childhood precisely because Rey was starving for them even though she'd tried to convince herself that she no longer cared after Crait.

Rey had always been good at lying. Suppressing her feelings for the Supreme Leader had been one of her greatest cons yet, until it all fell apart amidst the ruins of the second Death Star on Kef Bir.

_"I did want to take your hand."_

Her fingers itch to do so now, but she has no wish to intrude. Ben's dark eyes are roaming every inch of the dilapidated main corridor that they're traversing, lost in remembrance. She would be selfish to insert herself into his headspace.

"I boarded this ship when we found it on Starkiller Base," he says. "It was the first time I'd seen it as a man. But Kylo Ren was a frightened child aping skewed constructs of manhood, so I think— I think that perhaps  _this_ is the first time, after all."

Ben is a mess of contradictions. Moving so much like his father, yet apparently given to bouts of pensive introspection like his mother, or like Luke. He's all sharp wit and scholarly vocabulary and warrior's heart, these things combining to form what is entirely his own blazingly honest self. Rey is entranced— and  _excited,_ to know more about him, to learn every single layer that he is willingly peeling back.

She trails after him as he makes his way to the cockpit, his loping stride tentative and unsure. He sucks in a harsh breath as his gaze falls on the pilot seat, and her brows knit together and she begins to suspect...

"Can you— are you seeing him, right now?" Her faltering voice is too loud in the stale air. Han had not been Force-sensitive; he shouldn't be able to manifest this way.

Ben shakes his head— but it's more to clear it, rather than to signify a negation. "He's just a memory," he says in distant tones. "But he is—  _my_ memory. Maybe that's enough."

"I think it must be," Rey tells him softly, and in that moment it's suddenly crystal clear to her what Han would have wanted. "And I think you should be the pilot."

Ben frowns. "Rey, I—"

She fakes a yawn, figuring it's high time that she put her ability to lie to some kind of better use. "Oh, I'm so tired. I'll end up flying us into a ditch, for sure. Co-piloting is all I'll be good for until I've rested up."

_"Rey,"_ he says again. Exasperated, reluctantly amused.

"I'll just drop my pack off at the crew's quarters." She tips him a mock salute. "Be right back, captain."

Rey leaves the cockpit before Ben can say another word. Once she's in the hallway, though, she gives in to the temptation to glance over her shoulder.

Ben's silhouette is outlined against the desert sunlight pouring in through the ship's transparisteel viewport. With his back to her in his battered jacket and worn trousers, he could almost pass for the younger version of Han that she'd seen in old holos. As she watches, he runs his fingers over the backrest of the pilot seat, and then he folds himself into it— slowly, so slowly, like a child afraid of getting caught.

For a while, he's as still as a statue. And then those same fingers rise up to wrap around the  _Millennium Falcon'_ s control yoke, and Rey can't shake the feeling of how right it looks. Can't help but think that Ben Solo is finally,  _finally_ home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Old Quarter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Old_Quarter_%28Tatooine%29).
> 
> [Credit chip](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Credit_chip/Legends).
> 
> [DuroTech](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/DuroTech).
> 
> [Mneffe-class superluminal shuttle](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mneffe-class_superluminal_shuttle).
> 
> [Pau'an](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Pau%27an/Legends).
> 
> [Weequay](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Weequay/Legends).
> 
> [Gamorrean](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gamorrean/Legends).
> 
> [Nikto](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nikto/Legends).
> 
> [Falleen](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Falleen/Legends).
> 
> [Falleen bladed-trident](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Falleen_bladed-trident).
> 
> [Gamorrean war axe](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gamorrean_Battleaxe).
> 
> [Black Sun](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Black_Sun).
> 
> _Jeedai_ is [Huttese](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Huttese/Legends) for "Jedi."
> 
> [Sluuce Canyon](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sluuce_Canyon).
> 
> [Durasteel](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Durasteel/Legends).
> 
> [Rodian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Rodian/Legends).
> 
> [Great Pit of Carkoon](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Great_Pit_of_Carkoon).
> 
> [Sarlacc](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sarlacc).
> 
> [Kef Bir](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kef_Bir).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, we have three fabulous artworks from [capsharmony](https://capsharmony.tumblr.com/post/190129857673), [kikorenart](https://kikorenart.tumblr.com/post/190121528337), and [chase-antics](https://kylorenvevo.tumblr.com/post/190100720601/chase-antics-the-wonderful-kylorenvevo-s-i)! And so many kind and encouraging comments on the last chapter! My heart is full and I can't thank you all enough. 🥰

He'd learned how to fly on this ship; Han Solo'd had precious few compunctions teaching a child the basic controls of a YT-1300 light freighter. It all comes rushing back to Ben as he and Rey run through the preflight checks— his father explaining the purpose of each lever and each button, Chewie grunting encouragement and issuing the occasional soft howl of dismay when Han launched into one of his many variations on a theme of,  _ "Well, we're not really sure what  _ this  _ is supposed to do, but I guess it can't hurt to check." _

Even that kind of memory brings such a wealth of pain with it that Ben's heart nearly seizes in grief as the  _ Falcon  _ takes off.

He was ill-prepared to face this. He'd been Ben Solo again only so briefly before he died, and most of his stay in the Netherworld of the Force had been hazy, to say the least. He'd felt no emotions, no passage of time. It had all been one great big nothing until the Daughter manifested to him in the mists.

And now he's human again,  _ alive  _ again, and fresh off four standard months trapped in the Deep's grim mines, where there'd been plenty of opportunity to remember and to regret. The weight of all his mistakes drags behind him like a cloak, and it's growing heavier and heavier with every passing moment that he spends inside the  _ Falcon. _

The wastelands fall away, the endless panorama of sandy dunes and rocky cliffs melting into open sky as they gain altitude. There's an abrupt lurch once they hit atmo— Ben's utterly certain that if he and Rey hadn't buckled up the viewport would be sporting two head-shaped dents— and then the cabin starts to  _ shake. _

"It's still doing this?" He has to raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of screeching sensors and vibrating metal.

"It's the ion flux stabilizer." His pretty little co-pilot somehow manages to inject a note of resignation into her own half-shout. "She usually calms down once she's in the black—"

"— and the acceleration compensator kicks in," Ben says the rest of the sentence with her, a chorus that echoes through the bridge of years and comes out the other side in the sound of his father's voice. "Yeah, I know."

With an almighty groan, the  _ Falcon  _ heaves itself past Tatooine's exosphere— miraculously  _ without  _ falling to pieces— and the rattling stops. Ben releases the breath he'd been holding, then settles back into the pilot seat as they embark on the sublight crawl to the nearest hyperlane.

"We'll take the Triellus Trade Route into the Arkanis system," Rey says, fiddling with the navicomp. "From there, it's a straight shot to Coruscant via the Corellian Run."

She's waiting for his approval, out of deference to him being the captain. Ben nods as he does the calculations in his head. "That's approximately eighty hours on a Class .05 hyperdrive," he muses. "Do we have enough rations?"

"I'll have to check, but I doubt it. Pretty sure I blew through most of the remaining supplies the last time I went Corewards. I haven't made it a habit to top up."

_ Because I rarely go off-world,  _ is what she doesn't say, but the unspoken words render the air fraught.

"It's all right," Ben forces himself to say pleasantly. There are three days to talk, to coax out all the reasons for the dullness in those beautiful hazel eyes. "We'll resupply at the next trading post."

Rey studies the map. He studies her. She has such an arresting sort of profile, her high forehead and square jaw offset by the thin bridge of a delicate nose and the round apple of a freckled cheek. He always loves her face but he  _ especially  _ loves it like this, glossed silver in the light of Chenini, the most erratic of Tatooine's three moons that they're currently drifting by. He watches, entranced, as her expression turns sour.

"Kemal Station marks up all its goods by a hundred and fifty percent," she complains. "New Ator has fairer prices, although the market's planetside and it'll take us a bit out of the way—"

"It's not as if we're strapped for credit," Ben gently argues. "I have access to the Organa vaults, too. Got my chip at the bank in Celanon City and everything."

Rey's grumpiness intensifies. "You could've  _ bought _ a shuttle instead of bringing the Black Sun down over your head, then."

He understands that this is coming from a place of having been worried about him, and— Maker help him— he starts to enjoy it a little. He can't decide what he wants to kiss away first— her slight frown or the wrinkle between her brows. He likes the feeling of being lovingly admonished.

"The only secondhand ship dealer within miles of where we docked was passed out in a spice den," Ben explains. "I couldn't wait for him to sober up and I wasn't particularly thinking straight. I was in a hurry to get to you."

"Oh." Rey's gaze doesn't flicker from the map but it's obvious that she's not really seeing it, her features gradually losing the battle to continue looking miffed. "Well, then."

Ben fights back a grin. "So— Kemal Station?"

"Yes," she concedes with a huff that's not as prickly as it ought to have been. "Okay."

He flicks on the autopilot. There's around forty-five minutes to go before they can make the jump into the Triellus Trade Route, giving them plenty of time to— well, he doesn't know  _ what,  _ exactly, but he looks forward to finding out.

Ben leans over, unbuckling Rey's seatbelt for her. They get to their feet at the same time and his mind is already a whirl of happy fantasies that mostly involve curling up together in the lounge, but then she announces in a brisk, no-nonsense kind of tone, "I'll take inventory, see what we ought to stock up on—"

_ This is "The fleet!" all over again,  _ he grumbles to himself even as he quickly says, "I'll go with you."

"No need, it's a one-person job," she's as quick to insist. "You should sit back in the lounge. We have a long way to go. Do you want something to eat, or to drink—"

"Rey." He grabs her wrist, his fingers slipping down the fine bones of it until they lace into the gaps between hers. "Are you moonlighting as a waitress or something?"

She blinks, looking stricken, and never in Ben Solo's first or second life has he wanted to beat himself up more.

It's even worse when she drops her gaze from his. "I just like doing things for you," she admits with uncharacteristic meekness, and he can't  _ stand  _ it any longer. "I never got the chance—"

He drags her to him, effortlessly scooping her up with his right hand tucked under her knees while his left arm supports her back. He'd done this before, with his armor and his mask, with no thought of romance. This time is different— this time, she isn't the girl carrying the map to Skywalker in her head and he isn't some twisted construct of the dark side. This time, she's the woman who had kissed him in a land of barren rock and lightning storms and he's the man who had given her his first true smile in years. They are a dyad in the Force, each other's missing piece.

This time, she buries her face in his chest, looping her arms around his neck. She clings so tightly that it's almost a stranglehold, but he can't bring himself to mind as he presses a kiss to the top of her head and carries her into the  _ Millennium Falcon' _ s lounge. It's here that he sits down on the battered old couch, keeping her balanced on his lap, silently rubbing between her shoulder blades while her fingers tangle in his hair.

"Thank you for taking care of me." His words are a soft, low rasp against her temple, nigh inaudible over the hum of the sublight drive. "It feels very good. But you need to take care of  _ yourself,  _ too."

"I have been," she mumbles into his shirtfront. She doesn't need to add  _ all my life  _ for him to hear it in her tone. To sense it in the Force through the frayed thread of their bond.

"That includes not running yourself ragged," he counters.  _ That includes not being afraid to lose me,  _ he thinks.

"You deserve to take it easy, this time around." She noses at his collarbone, inhaling his scent like she's trying to draw it into her body where she can keep it forever. "That was what I wanted for us after the war. To rest, and to learn each other. That was what I thought would happen when you came to help me defeat Palpatine. I believed that there would be one last battlefield, and then a future. With you. After Exegol."

Ben swallows the lump in his throat. What a simple dream, what a good dream. "I doubt the Resistance would have let me off just like that."

Rey pulls back slightly so that she can look him in the eye. The breath is knocked out of his lungs in wonder at the sudden glint of fire-tempered steel in her gaze. "I would have run away with you," she says fiercely. "I would have, Ben."

He kisses her. There is nothing else he could have done in response to this devotion that is so foreign to him, and sacred all the more for that. He kisses her even though it's a bad idea in the long run, one hand gliding down her spine to press her even closer to him while the other cups the back of her neck. His lips are clumsy against hers, searching for something that it doesn't take long for her to readily give, a sigh rolling off of her tongue as she kisses him back, her fingers laying flat along the sides of his face. The bond stirs weakly between them, like some small, wounded creature emerging from a fractured sleep. It's an echo of what it used to be, but it is valiant, singing its hymn of all that has been lost but can never be forgotten, both the bitter and the sweet.

Kissing Rey is as much a burst of light as it had been in the sunless lair of the Sith Eternal, but, here and now, on a ship cruising through the starry wastes that surround Chenini, the moment isn't gilded in fleetingness as it had been for Ben back then. There is no shadow hanging over his head, no oblivion waiting to take him— at least, not for a while yet. He is free to savor every bit of it. He is free to want  _ more. _

"Rey," he murmurs into their kiss, a little huskily, a little urgently. "Rey, open your mouth. Please,  _ cyar'ika." _

Her lips part for him even as the endearment causes the smooth skin of her neck to flush hot against his palm. His tongue darts forward eagerly and,  _ Maker,  _ it's everything.  _ She  _ is everything, all silk and warmth and giving as good as she gets, enthusiastic in the way she mirrors his earnest explorations until they're both panting into each other's mouths, their hearts racing amidst the vasts of space. It's not perfect— it's sloppy and wet and  _ starving,  _ and sometimes her teeth catch on his bottom lip, and his damnable nose gets in the way more often than not, but he never wants to stop. He could do this forever.

Unfortunately, he  _ does  _ need to breathe sometime, and so does Rey.

They break apart, gulping for air. She's crying a little and his own eyesight is strangely blurry. "I'm so scared that this is a dream," she forces out in a rush, through sniffles and through hiccups.

"It's not." He rests his forehead against hers. "I'm here. This is real."

"I'm  _ always  _ kissing you. At night." She wraps herself around him, her thighs straddling his hips. He's absurdly reminded of the blue monkeys of Kashyyyk holding fast to their wroshyr trees, but there can be no room for absurdity in what she says next. "And I'm always waking up alone."

Desperate to take away her pain in the only manner available to him, he buries his fingers in the buns of her hair as he shifts his head slightly so that their lips meet again. This time, it's her who takes the lead, licking at the seam of his mouth until he grants her entrance in embarrassingly short order. One of the many things Ben loves about Rey is that she never does anything by halves— in battle, and in this. She  _ devours  _ him, leaving his senses reeling with the taste and smell and feel of her. The soft, warm, fabric-clad spot between her legs rubs against the growing hardness in his trousers with an instinctive wriggle of her hips.

_ "Oh."  _ A startled, ragged gasp is wrenched out of her throat at the friction. "Is this okay— I—"

_ You're going to be the death of me,  _ Ben thinks, too far gone to even appreciate the irony of that statement. "Don't stop," he mutters against her lips, his hands dropping to her waist to press her further down onto him.

When the blare of a shrill alarm goes off, alerting them to the fact that they're nearing the hyperlane, Ben entertains the notion of taking his lightsaber to the freighter's controls.

Rey scrambles off of him with reluctance, but not before stealing one last kiss to the tip of his nose, a gesture that's enough to alleviate his frustration with its shy sweetness. She's halfway out of the lounge when she realizes that he's not following her. "Ben?"

"Give me a minute," he says tersely.

"What..." Rey trails off when he shoots a pointed glance at his crotch area. She turns as red as a tomato.

Judging from the heat that suffuses his cheeks and spreads all the way up his ears, so has he.

☾✩☽

He'd called her  _ cyar'ika,  _ which is Mando'a for  _ beloved. _

Rey's still thinking about it hours later, when they dock at Kemal Station.

Located in the eponymous system orbiting the gaseous world of Kemal, the Station is a moon that has been converted to a trading post. Its damp air is replete with swirls of thick fog that wreathe the assortment of industrial gray buildings circling the docks in a constant state of silvery gloom, punctuated by neon signs and beacons of yellow light that blur in the mists. There's tons of people milling about— travelers passing through for supplies, shifty-looking smugglers for whom the moon is a base of operations, and workers on shore leave from the Tibanna mines on the nearby gas giant, seeking to blow off some steam at the lone cantina. The crowd is a mixture of various species; features obscured by the haze, their silhouettes drift around Ben and Rey like shadows— some human, others too gigantic or long-limbed to be such, several sporting either head-tails or horns or flippers or masses of shaggy fur.

It's also  _ wretchedly  _ cold.

The ice-like temperature had started digging into the exposed parts of Rey's skin the moment she and Ben exited the  _ Falcon.  _ By the time they're halfway to the nearest sign advertising dry goods and sundries, it has sunk into her bones.

She's no longer able to suppress the shiver that wracks her frame, her teeth chattering as she rubs her bare arms in a vain attempt to smoothen out the goosebumps that prickle them.

Ben immediately shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. She doesn't wish for  _ him  _ to catch the chill on her account, but he fixes her with a glare that could almost be called stern when she tries to protest.

"This is the  _ least  _ I can do for you," he says crisply. "Let me, all right?"

And she'd have given him a harder time about it, but there's a certain  _ look  _ on his pale face. It's a look that tells her he needs this— needs to take care of her as much as she needs to take care of him. So she nods, and dons the jacket as they continue walking through the fog. Made of black Sullust leather, it's huge on her— she's practically swimming in it, the cuffs hanging well past her wrists— but it's warm and it smells like him.

She really can't ask for anything more.

Ben opens the door for her when they reach the shop. He pauses for a split second just before doing so, as if he's taking in the sight of her with an enigmatic gleam in his dark eyes. For some reason, that gleam makes her remember the kisses that they'd recently shared on the  _ Falcon,  _ and her mouth goes a little dry. She kind of wants nothing more than to drag him back to the ship.

But, first, they have to buy supplies.

The store proprietor is a small, blue-skinned Toydarian, with a long, rubbery snout, a potbelly, and fly-like wings attached to his back. He is also  _ extremely  _ uninterested in bargaining.

_ "Ees hoppada nopa!"  _ Rey snarls when he names a price for ration packs that's exorbitant even by Kemal Station standards. She assumes that her usage of Huttese will cow him— or, at the very least, signify that she's from around these parts and won't be fooled.

But it doesn't work. The Toydarian unapologetically reiterates his price in Basic, his beady black eyes narrowed at Ben with all the shrewdness of a merchant who recognizes an affluent Coreworlder when he sees one. And Ben really  _ does  _ scream Coreworlder, even when he's standing there in a simple black shirt and plain trousers and nondescript boots. He looks like Han, but Leia's elegance shines through, tinged with a more subtle haughtiness that Rey can't quite place.

Maybe it's Padme Amidala's, although  _ she  _ hadn't been from the Core. She'd shared a homeworld in the Mid Rim with Sheev Palpatine.

Rey shivers; this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

She forces her thoughts to return to the current situation. It can't be helped— the proprietor won't budge. After a few more bouts of failed negotiation, he leans back behind the counter with an air of finality, his stubby arms crossed in front of his scrawny chest as Ben quietly soothes a fuming Rey.

"It's still within our budget— to be honest, we don't really  _ have  _ one, the vaults are more than—"

"It's the  _ principle  _ of the thing," Rey insists through gritted teeth.

But, in the end, she can't do anything except let him pay the Toydarian for a week's worth of ration packs, as well as some additional toiletries. She storms out of the shop, Ben trailing after her with the supplies in a cloth bag dangling from his left hand. The right one, he uses to take hers.

She peers up at him in the muddled amber glow of the fog lamps. Unlike her, he seems to be in a strangely good mood. There's a lightness to him.

He seems— dare she even think it—  _ cheerful. _

Ben grins down at her. "I like how you look wearing my jacket," he says. "I like how you look when you're grumpy  _ and  _ wearing my jacket."

Rey has no witty comebacks to give. Ben's eyes are crinkling at the corners, his features rendered boyish by a smile that's all dimples and slightly crooked teeth. It's the smile that made her heart skip a beat on Exegol, the smile that she has dreamed of and been haunted by all these months. She'd thought she would never see it again.

She  _ definitely  _ wants nothing more than to drag him back to the ship now.

Before she can do just that, he starts gently tugging her in the direction of the cantina. "I'll buy you dinner. This is our last chance to have a freshly-cooked meal for a while."

"I'm starting to think this is a date," Rey scoffs.

Ben cocks his head at her. Smiles once more, slow and lazy and contemplative. "Would you have any objections if it were?"

Maker. He's—  _ charming.  _ And  _ so  _ smug. She should be annoyed, and she  _ is,  _ but...

But she's smiling right back. She couldn't have stopped it even if she'd tried.

"None at all," Rey says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ion flux stabilizer](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ion_flux_stabilizer).
> 
> [Acceleration compensator](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Inertial_compensator).
> 
> [Sublight drive](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sublight_drive).
> 
> [Triellus Trade Route](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Triellus_Trade_Route/Legends).
> 
> [Arkanis system](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arkanis_system).
> 
> [Corellian Run](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Corellian_Run/Legends).
> 
> [Chenini](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chenini/Legends).
> 
> [Kemal Station](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kemal_Station).
> 
> [New Ator](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/New_Ator).
> 
> [Spice](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Spice/Legends).
> 
> [Sith Eternal](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sith_Eternal).
> 
> [Kashyyyk blue primate](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kashyyyk_blue_primate).
> 
> [Wroshyr tree](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wroshyr_tree).
> 
> [Mando'a](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mando%27a/Legends).
> 
> [Tibanna](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tibanna/Legends).
> 
> [Sullust leather](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sullust_leather).
> 
> [Toydarian](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Toydarian).
> 
> [Galactic Basic Standard](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galactic_Basic_Standard).
> 
> "Ees hoppada nopa" is [Huttese](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Huttese/Legends) for "I'm not going to pay that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr user dontlookatmeeeeee drew [Rey 👏 wearing 👏 Ben's 👏 jacket 👏](https://dontlookatmeeeeee.tumblr.com/post/190229376050/im-reading-kylorenvevos-i-kill-giants-and) and kikorenart posted an absolutely ethereal rendition of [the makeout scene](https://kikorenart.tumblr.com/post/190229269252). We are so lucky! Also, for those who might want to know when each next chapter is going to be posted, I have an update schedule on the sidebar of [my blog](https://kylorenvevo.tumblr.com/)— it's not visible on the app so you'll need to use a computer or a mobile browser. I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kylorenvevo).
> 
> **Please be advised that in this installment there is a trigger warning for an incident of verbal sexual harassment located in the paragraph starting with the line "The drunken louts bristle."**

Ben's never gone on a date before, but he knows the theory well enough. Take the person you love somewhere nice, pay for their food, have pleasant conversation with them, hold their hand, and maybe steal a kiss or two. He and Rey have got the holding hands thing down pat and the kissing already out of the way— although he  _certainly_ wouldn't say no to more of it— and he has credits to spend. It's the  _somewhere nice_ that's the problem, because the squat gray cantina is the only dining establishment on Kemal Station and it leaves  _much_ to be desired.

Immediately upon setting foot inside, they are assailed by a veritable wall of noise. Most of the rough-and-tumble congregation of spacers, miners, and small-time criminals are well into their cups, the assortment of heated quarrels, boisterous guffaws, and slurred chatter blurring together with the live band's rather brutish interpretation of a sinfonia concertante to form a grating siege on the ears. The meager lighting is a sickly green hue. The air smells like booze, tabac, and grease.

Ben is quick to decide that this had been a terrible idea and he's all for making a hasty exit— munching on tasteless sticks of synthetic protein in the  _Falcon'_ s dingy lounge would be immensely preferable to staying in this hellhole one second longer than necessary. However, before he can communicate as much to Rey, she makes a beeline for a vacant booth in the corner and he has no choice but to follow, shouldering his way through the throng.

She sits down and he squeezes in beside her, grimacing as the upholstery sticks to his clothes in a way that clean upholstery wouldn't. The booth is on the small side, and Rey's expression flickers like she's on the verge of laughing as Ben occupies a good majority of the narrow seating area, crowding her up against the wall.

"What's so funny?" he huffs.

"You." There's the tiniest of teasing glints in her eyes. "And your constant losing battle with furniture."

And as he flashes a mock scowl at her that makes her eyes sparkle just a little bit more, it occurs to him that he's never heard her laugh—  _really_ laugh, joyous and unrestrained. It's odd to be so in love with someone and share such an intense connection with her while still not knowing what she looks and sounds like when she gives herself to laughter.

Then again, there'd never been much cause for humor in their interactions during the war. And even now.

A GG-class serving droid trundles over to them. "Eat or drink?" it whirrs out gruffly in its tinny, mechanical voice. When Ben replies that they'll do both, it pulls up the menu from its databank, a list of food and beverages and their corresponding prices glowing in the air above the table in symbols of icy blue Outer Rim Basic.

The selection is far from inspired. It's cantina fare— simple, oily, quick to prepare. After some rather tentative deliberation, Ben settles on the Quor'sav-fried steak with a side of goatgrass salad and two gartro eggs over easy.

"A bowl of nyork chowder for me," Rey says to the service droid.

Ben frowns. She'd picked the cheapest item on the menu. "Rey, no offense, but that's  _soup—"_

"It's very good soup." The droid seems about as affronted as its programming can allow it to be. "Freshly shucked nyorks in a creamy broth with diced potatoes, celonslay, Ojomian onion—"

"You should get something more filling," Ben tells Rey, ignoring the droid, who emits a harsh click of disapproval at being treated in this manner. "What about the steak?"

"Ben," she hisses, "it's almost thirteen credits—"

He turns to the droid. "Make that two Quor'sav-fried steaks."

The droid's round eyes flash yellow as it commits the revised order to memory. "Side dish and style of eggs for the lady?"

Rey is silent. Mutinously so. "Same as mine," Ben instructs in clipped tones before he proceeds to select a bottle from the abysmal wine list.

Once the droid has taken its leave, all of Ben's attention zeros in on the woman beside him. Her posture is stiff, her hands balled into fists on her lap. He braces himself for an argument, and there is a part of him that  _welcomes_ it— welcomes the return of her fire and the way she never makes anything easy for him.

But she doesn't say a word. Her sullen acquiescence is unnerving; it sharpens the sounds and smells of the cantina until there is a tense, claustrophobic knot in Ben's throat. Seeking relief, he drapes an arm over her slim shoulders, gathering her as close into his side as he can.

"Tell me what's on your mind." He doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. There is no room for pride when it comes to Rey. He won't make his parents' mistakes.

The request appears to mollify her. She relaxes against him, her answer muffled against the black fabric over his collarbone. "I know you just want me to eat better, but it's hard for me to let go of old habits. I grew up without a single credit to my name. Paying to sit down and eat a meal prepared by someone else was unheard of. So, to this day, it's instinct for me to cut costs as much as possible— and when you spoke over me and changed my order—" She falters, taking a deep breath as if for courage. "Logically, I understand why you did it. But it felt... it felt like you were invalidating my choice, and the life that led to me making that choice." Her next words come out in a rush. "I know that's not what you meant, it's just how I feel, and you're the one paying for dinner and I'm being ungrateful, I'm sorry—"

"Rey." Ben's fingertips mold to the round of her shoulder in a touch that's as gently reassuring as he can make it. "No need to apologize. I was an ass and I should have been more tactful.  _I'm_ sorry."

It's so careful, all of it. The two of them dancing around each other, afraid of wounding. Such a far cry from—

He remembers red light shrieking against blue. Snow and forest, sea and ruins. Rey's all but burrowing into his side, her arms looping around his waist.

"I don't want to fight, this time around," she says with heart-wrenching plaintiveness. "I never want us to fight again."

"I honestly don't think it can be helped," he muses. "This is me we're talking about. I get restless when I'm not pissing someone off."

That elicits a snort out of her, at least.

The service droid comes back with the food, and then with the wine. It's Celanon Semi-Dry, much too young, but a backwater trading post's cantina in the Outer Rim can hardly be expected to possess a well-stocked cellar. It's a stroke of sheer luck that this vintage is fruity enough to abstain from clashing with the pom seed flour-battered meat.

"What happened when you were brought back? On the Deep?" Rey asks after a few bites of steak and eggs and salad. Her inquisitiveness is almost—  _perfunctory,_ as if it hadn't occurred to her until now. As if all she'd cared about since he fell into her lap in Mos Eisley was the mere fact of his return, hang the particulars.

But they have to talk about it at some point, even if it's not a time he cares to relive.

Ben takes a sip of wine. So much for the  _pleasant conversation_ part of the date. "I woke up naked," he says bluntly as he sets his glass back down on the table. "In a mine shaft."

Her lips press together as a faint, alluring pinkness shades her cheekbones. In the time before, he hadn't realized how easily she blushed, and how prettily, too— he's not exactly short on reasons for wanting to kick his past self, but not having taken advantage of  _this_ is climbing to the top of the list in record speed.

"Hopefully you didn't have to remain that way for four whole months," Rey says primly.

"I didn't. A woman on the morning shift found me first. She was a Twi'lek, her name was Daeshara'cor. I had no idea how to even  _begin_ to explain the situation to her, but it turned out to be easier because..." He trails off, belatedly noticing that— for some reason— Rey now has her fork in a death grip and she's glaring a hole into her plate.

"Because what?" she prompts tersely before he can ask what the matter is.

"Daeshara'cor was Force-sensitive," Ben explains. "I could feel it inside her. She wasn't even supposed to be in that particular section of the mines that morning, but she said she felt drawn to it. To me." Rey has resumed eating, hacking away at her steak, stabbing the eggs, chewing the greens with a savagery that is surely disproportionate. Ben raises an eyebrow at all of this even as he continues his tale. "I told her as much of the truth as I could risk— that I'd died during the war and the Force brought me back because the galaxy was in danger, although I couldn't tell her who I was, obviously—"

"Oh, I don't know," Rey mutters, "she strikes me as the very understanding sort."

He is  _truly_ confused now, but he perseveres. "She found some clothes for me and we concocted a story that I'd been accidentally left behind by the previous batch of workers a couple of weeks prior. The underground mining complex ran through the whole planet so it wasn't too far-fetched that I'd gotten lost. The downside of everyone buying it was that they expected me to have no problem working to earn my keep until the next supply ship arrived." He flashes a wry grin at his date. "I got  _really_ good at using a borelifter."

"I suppose Daeshara'cor was an excellent teacher in that regard," Rey says through a full mouth, her cheeks bulging, her eyes narrowed.

And that's when it clicks.

Ben fantasizes about leaving the cantina right this instant— just scooping Rey into his arms and walking out on their half-eaten meals and the bill and carrying her back to the  _Falcon,_ where he'll devote the next eternity or so to showing her that she has no cause to be jealous. No cause at all,  _especially_ when she looks this good in his jacket.

"Daeshara'cor was kind enough to show me the ropes," he says cautiously, "but I think she got tired of me after a few weeks."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Under the table, Ben's knee bumps into Rey's entirely  _not_ by accident. "I wouldn't shut up about the love of my life."

There it is. Her tiny smile, unfolding like a lyris petal in full bloom. They don't speak again until they've cleared their plates, but the silence that has fallen over their booth is a comfortable one.

Ben sips some more wine to fortify himself before he picks up the threads of unfinished conversation on a more serious note. "I wouldn't call it a good four months. The physical labor helped take my mind off of things— as did giving Daeshara'cor some basic training in how to use the Force— but during downtime I had to deal with... with everything. With being alive again. At night, it was just me and all my regrets. And I missed you so badly that it hurt to breathe."

"I'm familiar with the sensation." Rey leans her head on his shoulder, staring into the ruby depths of her own wineglass. "When did Luke and Leia start manifesting to you?"

"A few days in. Luke was first. I was so startled I nearly hit him over the head with a shovel."

"Sure," Rey scoffs, "you were  _startled."_

Ben can't quite hide a fleeting smirk. "We were able to talk after the attempted bludgeoning. Him and then my mother... It was a gradual process, but we laid a few things to rest— although we're still working on some other stuff. There's an entire lifetime of grudges and mistakes to cover, after all."

"I'm glad they were with you. I'm glad you weren't lonely."

A bittersweet pang twinges through his chest, because that couldn't be further from the truth. "I'm always lonely when I'm not with you, Rey." His arm shifts so that it's once more draped over her shoulders. "I tried reaching out to you, through the bond. Several times. But it was like walking into a brick wall."

Her energy signature flares up, as if stricken. "I was... compartmentalizing," she forces out. "The bond— it— I locked it away. Being constantly reminded that you weren't on the other end— it was too painful."

There's more that she isn't telling him. Even with mental shields in place he can still sense the shape of unspoken truths lingering beyond his reach. But he will be patient, and careful. He won't demand what she isn't willing to give yet. It's not as if he doesn't have secrets of his own.

"I understand," he says.

Another bout of quiet, this one more fraught than the last. The two of them are lost in their own thoughts, much too somber in contrast to the drunken, roaring festivities that surround them, etched in a haze of shadow and green light.

"What was it like?" Rey finally asks. "Being... being one with the Force?"

She mouths it like a euphemism. Like someone saying  _a few starships short of a fleet_ instead of  _insane,_ or  _gone over the falls_ instead of  _overdosed on spice._

_Being one with the Force_ instead of  _you died, you were dead._

Ben almost chuckles, but he catches himself in time. Somehow he knows that it would hurt her beyond belief if he were to laugh now. "It was a whole lot of nothing," he says truthfully. "Like I was just sleeping, although there would be occasions when I'd get pulled into a semblance of wakefulness and I'd see mist. Just mist. I had no memories, no..." He trails off, struggling to put the experience into words. "No sense of self," he concludes at last. "I was part of the mists." Rey shudders and his arm automatically constricts, tucking her tighter into his side. "Was it like that for you, too?"

It's not something he can bear to dwell on for too long. Her cold skin, her open, sightless eyes. The way her limbs had—  _flopped_ as he jostled her, unresisting and devoid of life. He'd had nightmares about her waxen corpse all throughout those months spent on the Deep.

"No, it wasn't," she tells him, and the thin and fragile phantom that is their bond seems to strain from the blow that Exegol had wrought. "I was somewhere else. A dark, vague place, with so many doors..."

"Doors?" That jostles something in Ben's recollections, but he can't quite place it.

At least, not until Rey continues speaking. "I think it had something to do with one of the illustrations I was studying in the Jedi texts, before. There were nexus points— pathways— all linked together. But there wasn't much else to go on in those pages."

"The Chain Worlds Theorem," Ben says. "Luke and I used to discuss that back when I was his apprentice. Supposedly, there's an in-between place linking all moments in time together." It's odd to be talking about this in an uproarious, smoke-tinged, and utterly mundane cantina with the cheerful jangle of a live band playing in the background; it moves the scene firmly into the realm of the surreal. "According to the ancient scholars, finding yourself in that plane would give you some form of access to the past and to the future."

"I heard voices," Rey mumbles. "The voices of... They were the Jedi of the Old Republic, I  _know_ it. They called to me as I was looking up at a sky full of stars. They told me to rise." She lifts her head from his shoulder so that she can look at him. "Did you— were you also able to—"

"No. It was just me." There'd been no one else with him amidst the rocks at the bottom of the abyss. He'd climbed out on his own, broken leg and all. Nothing to coax him higher except for the saving grace of sheer stubbornness.

Rey's hazel eyes flash. She drains the remaining wine in her glass in one swig. There's a part of him that winces at that— while this Semi-Dry may not be one of the more notable vintages, it still deserves a  _little_ respect, in his humble opinion— but then she's glaring off into the distance, tight-lipped, and it strikes him that her rage is cold. Like it's been given time to fester.

A year's worth of time, perhaps.

Before he can discern the source of her anger, her gaze darts abruptly to the crowd. Four burly human males are staggering over to the booth, the other patrons all but scrambling to get out of their way. They look drunk and belligerent— the worst possible sort of combination.

They look like trouble.

☾✩☽

Blondie, Snaggletooth, Eyepatch, and Mullet.

These aren't the men's names, but they are what Rey decides to call them, basing off of physical appearance since chances are high that introductions won't be in order. There'd been a cantina on Jakku, too— she knows what people look like when alcohol has made them brave and they're spoiling for a fight.

Ben draws his arm back to his side, but not before giving her one final squeeze. At first she thinks he's wordlessly assuring her that everything will be all right, but, no— he catches her eye, shaking his head slightly, and that's when she realizes he's telling her to stand down.

She raises an eyebrow at him. She's not making any promises.

A quick once-over of the group doesn't reveal any tattoos or paraphernalia indicating allegiance to any of the numerous criminal organizations that plague the Outer Rim. Their muscular builds and the faint whiffs of machined oil suggest that they are miners— probably on the hunt for a good time before they return to their posts on the nearby gas giant. In these rough circles,  _a good time_ can often include a brawl or two.

Rey shouldn't begrudge them overly much. She understands all too well the effects that stir-craziness and monotonous toil can have on the human psyche. But she doesn't like the way they're sizing Ben up as if they're a school of dim-witted sharks and he's the big fish who wandered into their midst.

"Looks as though we've got a little misunderstanding on our hands, buddy," Eyepatch slurs. "This here's  _our_ booth, you know?"

"Is it," Ben replies in perfect deadpan.

"It is." Snaggletooth waves a meaty and none too steady finger in front of Ben's nose. "See, we were talking about how nice it would be to put our feet up, and  _this_ booth's the comfiest in the house."

Ben bats the offending finger away from his face. "I missed the part where you said you put your name on it."

The drunken louts bristle. "Get outta here, pal, before we  _make_ you," snarls Blondie. His red-rimmed eyes slide to Rey and his snarl turns into a leer. "Your girlfriend can stay, though."

Demonstrating a complete and utter inability to heed his own advice, Ben's on his feet in an instant, his fist slamming into the blond man's jaw.

Rey manages to scramble out of the booth just as Mullet draws a blaster. She launches herself at him before he can aim it at Ben, grabbing hold of his wrists and then slamming her forehead into his. He reels back, dropping the weapon onto the floor, and she kicks it away, not waiting to see it disappear into the crowd before she throws a punch at Eyepatch.

From behind, a pair of beefy arms encircle her windpipe. It has to be Mullet again, because Snaggletooth is currently stretched out prone over the grimy tiles after Ben smashed the wine bottle over his head. Rey telekinetically forces Mullet's hand closer to her mouth, sinking her teeth into the fleshy mound of his palm. He yelps; she takes advantage of his loosed grip to drive her elbow  _hard_ into his ribs, following it up with a spin kick that sends him crashing into Eyepatch.

A short distance away, Blondie has recovered from Ben's left hook and is charging at him. Ben easily sidesteps his inebriated opponent, hauling him up by the back of his shirt and flinging him against the nearest table.

Unfortunately, the table is occupied, and the cluster of fanged, dark-scaled, female Barabels on their species' equivalent of a girls' night out are none too pleased about having their beer spilled all over them.

It's total pandemonium after that.

In hindsight, with the alcohol and the spice overflowing while everyone is so tightly packed together, Rey supposes that the situation had been a powder keg waiting to explode from the very start. The entire cantina devolves into one massive brawl— ludicrously, the live band keeps on playing. She loses count of how many people she has hit and how many have in turn hit her; if she's being honest with herself, there is a certain exhilarating freedom to be had in switching her brain off and letting the adrenaline rush of this kind of riotous combat take precedence.

However, she still has enough presence of mind to be aware that she and Ben need to get out of here before they end up killing someone. They're not defending themselves from seasoned thugs who want them dead. It's just a bar fight.

She snatches the bag of supplies from the abandoned booth and, when she finds Ben again in the sea of swinging fists and overturned furniture, he's clutching the broken wine bottle in one hand and a splintered-off table leg in the other, several unconscious people at his feet. His hair is a sweaty mess and his dark gaze is wild, and he looks like he's enjoying himself  _far_ too much.

He pouts a little when he sees the no-nonsense expression on her features, but he releases his makeshift weapons and lets her take his hand and drag him behind her as she clears a path through the chaos, the brawlers who are in the way sent flying in every direction with Force push until she's able to slip out the door with Ben in tow.

And then they're running, through the cold, damp fog, through the glow of yellow lights. Just in case someone decides to chase after them, they don't stop until they've boarded the  _Falcon,_ and a few minutes later they're soaring back up into the black, leaving Kemal Station behind.

Rey stares blankly at the celestial wastes beyond the viewport as they set course for the hyperlane. It had all happened so fast— and it hasn't even been a day since they fought their way out of Mos Eisley and through Sluuce Canyon and fed someone to the sarlacc.

"You just appeared out of nowhere and completely turned my life upside down," she says to Ben, glancing over at him with something like amazement.

He smirks. There's a cut on his lip and a bruise on his cheek, as well as some swelling around his right eye. "So now we're even."

She doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. They have fifteen minutes to go before they can make the jump into lightspeed, so she figures she'll use that time to heal him.

Rey stands up, and every single iota of Ben's attention immediately focuses on her with an intensity that's somehow tender and blistering all at once. She moves into the space between his spread legs and stoops over him, brow furrowed in concentration as her fingertips skim over his various injuries and banish them with the Force.

He quietly lets her do this, his head tilted back, the column of his throat as smooth and as pale as alabaster in the starlight. With the attunement that's required for Force healing, she feels his pulse race like it's her own second heartbeat when her thumb dips into the satin-soft bow of his upper lip.

Ben doesn't speak until the cut on his mouth has disappeared under her ministrations. "Sorry our date didn't go so well." The nonchalance in his tone is forced; there's a solemn gravity in the way he looks at her.

"I mean—" Rey shrugs— "at least this time no one got chopped in half."

He chuckles, equal parts strained and affectionate. She returns to her post just as the sensors blare in warning of their impending approach on the hyperlane. They strap in and flip controls with practiced ease, and then the Kemal Station system begins to blur before their eyes.

"Rey," Ben suddenly blurts out, "we forgot something."

She turns to face him sharply, wondering what they could have forgotten, wondering if this is cause for panic. "What is it?"

"This." He leans over from the pilot seat and his lips meet hers just as the world beyond the transparisteel viewport dissolves into brilliant starlines.

Rey closes her eyes, smiling as she kisses him back, gentle and slow and sweet, and she decides that, no, it hadn't been a bad date.

Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tabac](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tabac).
> 
> [Sinfonia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sinfonia).
> 
> [GG-class serving droid](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/GG-class_serving_droid).
> 
> [Outer Rim Basic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Outer_Rim_Basic).
> 
> [Quor'sav-fried steak](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Quor%27sav-fried_steak).
> 
> [Goatgrass salad](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Goatgrass_salad).
> 
> [Gartro](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Gartro).
> 
> [Nyork chowder](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nyork_chowder).
> 
> [Celanon Semi-Dry](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Celanon_Semi-Dry).
> 
> [Twi'lek](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Twi%27lek).
> 
> [Daeshara'cor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Daeshara%27cor) was a Jedi in the Legends universe; obviously things are a little different in this one. There will be more EU characters making cameos in a similar manner.
> 
> [Mining borelifter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mining_borelifter).
> 
> [Lyris](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Lyris).
> 
> [Chain Worlds Theorem](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Chain_Worlds_Theorem).
> 
> [Barabel](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Barabel).
> 
> [Force push](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Force_push).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! This chapter was already half-finished when my stupid cat chewed through the cord of my laptop charger and I was unable to recover and continue working on the doc until I got a new one. But all is well now and I should be able to update again next week— in the meantime, feedback on this installment would be much appreciated. Happy Valentine's Day, Reylos! ❤️
> 
> **There are spoilers for Ben's backstory in _The Rise of Kylo Ren_ in the paragraph beginning with the lines "In between shifts, they discuss other things." Please be guided accordingly.**

Ben Solo is thinking about his father again. It's hard not to. Long jumps through hyperspace provide little in the way of diversion for a crew of two people with a doddering old A.I. that can't be trusted to navigate properly, and Han's presence is everywhere in the cockpit. Written into the very bones of the ship itself.

With Rey asleep in the copilot seat, there's nothing to fill Ben's head but ghosts and silence. A glance to the left and there's Han, or a shadow of him, grumbling about the mechanic who'd tried to sell him on a compressor for the ignition line. A glance to the right and Han's on his feet, stretching muscles stiff from sitting as he gazes contemplatively out at the field of silver and bluish black racing beyond the viewport.

So it goes as the hours drag on, along with the starlines. Sometimes it's Han in his younger years, with the mischievous glint in his eyes that's never far off. Sometimes it's Han as Kylo Ren had seen him last, gray-haired and weathered— still oddly hopeful, for all that. Sometimes it's just his voice, a low, gruff rumble of indistinct things.

Ben's drowning in memory.

Rey emerges from slumber when they're a quarter of the way up the Corellian Run. It's not a gentle process; she jolts back into waking, his name torn from her lips in a gasp as her eyes fly open, wide with panic— only when they land on him does she relax, slumping back into her chair with the oddest mixture of relief and defeat.

"I was afraid it had all been just a dream," she mumbles.

He suppresses a wince, recalling what she'd said about always waking up to find him gone. Force, there's so much that they need to figure out, and he's not helping the situation one bit— not while he still carries the baggage from his previous life. He reaches over to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

"It's not a dream." He says this with more conviction than he feels. "I'm here, _ma sareen."_

She hides her blushing face in the backrest of the seat.  _Cute, cute, cute,_ bleats his single brain cell despite the gravity of the moment. He just wants to  _squeeze_ her.

When she peeks over at him, it's with a more serious expression as the echoes of his unguarded thoughts over the last few hours are transmitted through the bond. "You were thinking about your father."

Ben nods.

Rey waits. Not expectantly, but tentatively, as if she hopes he'll share this with her but she isn't sure whether he actually will. He looks at her and he thinks about the hand that reached out to touch his, so long ago. The tear that slid down a freckled cheek, gleaming in the firelight.

_"Neither are you,"_ she'd said. They weren't alone. Not anymore.

And he'd gone and messed it up, but perhaps  _that_ part still held true. Perhaps that part can still be saved.

Perhaps it's finally time to tell someone all of it. Perhaps that someone is Rey.

"I loved my father," Ben says thickly. "He used to tell me that there was a whole galaxy against us, but we were going to make it. I believed that. I truly did. But there were voices in my head, and they got louder as I got older. I know now that it was Palpatine in the guise of Snoke, in the guise of my own doubts." Rey flinches; he's about to assure her that he doesn't blame her for her power-mad grandfather's sins, but she shakes her head and motions for him to continue. And so he does. "I know that now," he repeats, "but, back then, all I understood was that there was darkness inside me. It made everything worse— my parents' absences, their quarrels, many of which were about me, what to do with me— it rotted all of these things in my head. Eventually, I was sent to train under Luke, and that was when my feelings of isolation increased." His hands balled into fists on the armrests. "I grew to resent Han Solo. The voices told me he was a liar, that people laughed behind my back because my mother had married a smuggler, that any potential I had was greatly diluted by his blood— by his lack of Force sensitivity."  _Stars,_ but he feels smaller and smaller with every word spoken. He could almost be that child again, so lost, so angry, so afraid. "Most of all, I resented him for letting me be sent away. For not coming to get me. That probably doesn't make a lot of sense."

"It does." There is a quiet fierceness in Rey's tone. On her face. "Those years on Jakku, back before I— before you told me..." She hesitates. Suddenly there is a space between them in the shape of the blue-tinged distance between their past selves on the  _Steadfast'_ s hangar bay.  _"We'll kill him together."_ He'd taken off his mask so that she could see he meant it. It hadn't worked. The  _Falcon_ had come roaring up from out of the black, and she'd gone somewhere he couldn't follow.

"Growing up in that desert, I was torn between missing my parents and being furious at them for not coming back," Rey is saying now. "I didn't know— and I still don't— which of those two emotions I felt more. So, what  _you_ are feeling, it makes sense to me."

As far as declarations go, it's a balm in more ways than one. It soothes something inside him.  _Not alone, not alone anymore._ It gives him the will to continue, even though the next part is going to hurt the most to say out loud.

"When she began manifesting to me on the Deep four months ago, my mother told me that Han— that  _Dad—"_ Ben's voice cracks around the word the way it had on a stormy ocean moon in the Endor system towards the end of the war— "that he fought to not have me sent to Luke. That she eventually convinced him, but it cost her their marriage. And in the end  _he_ was the one who came to save me, after all. He was as Force-sensitive as a rock, but he showed up on Kef Bir when I needed him most." Ben hangs his head, unable to meet Rey's gaze. "Or maybe he was just a figment of my imagination. Just me trying to give myself the final push I needed to become Ben Solo again. Maybe the truth is that my father would have taken on an entire galaxy for me and I killed him and he died looking into my eyes."

The silence that follows is absolute, but it is short-lived. Before Ben can succumb to the bleak, indelible reality of his mistakes— before he can even start to fear that Rey will come to her senses about this Corewards jaunt with a murderer brought back from the dead—

— she moves, unbuckling her seatbelt and crawling into his lap. Closing the space between them.

He is too stunned to do anything but let his arms close around her in response to some instinct that's as old as time itself. She hugs him back, strong and warm and smelling like the desert.

"I think that love is stronger than death," Rey says. "I think Han went to Starkiller Base because you were worth everything, and I think he defied time and space to come to you on Kef Bir for the same reason. And even  _if_ he was just a memory then, it still means that the dark side couldn't cast a shadow over what you carried in your heart." She leans in close, resting her forehead against his. "You have Han's strength. You have his spirit," she breathes along the curve of his cheek. It's as hushed as only the truth can be, threaded through with the solemnity of the Force. "You are your father's son."

Tears leak from the corners of Ben's eyes; he hides them in the chestnut strands of Rey's hair. They hold each other quietly as the ship sails on through the starry corridors of hyperspace, both of them reveling in this closeness that had been so hard-won.

When she speaks again, it is to tell him, "I have something for you."

☾✩☽

The silence in the crew's quarters is deafening. The small, sparsely furnished cabin that Rey claimed for her own is too vast and too empty without Ben in it. She left him at the cockpit for only the short amount of time it took to walk here, but there's a part of her that misses him already.

There's a part of her that's afraid he won't be there when she returns.

Rey shakes her head as she rummages through the compartment bolted to the wall. This is her comeuppance— it surely is— for having locked her grief away for so long. For not talking to anyone about what happened on Exegol save for the barest bones of it. For not telling even her closest friends about all the things that had lain waste to the chambers of her being.

Now that same grief sneaks up on her at unexpected moments. She feels the echoes of it tenfold.

Her fingers closing around a familiar length of twine, she gingerly extracts Han Solo's dice from the piles of odds and ends that she'd accumulated since fleeing Jakku. The original chain had begun to rust; she'd replaced it with the twine until she could find something better, closing it into a loop with a ball clasp fashioned from salvaged metal bits so that the dice dangles from it like a pendant of sorts.

Rey studies the dice, their aurodium plating cool against her palm. Ben had loved playing with these as a child, Leia told her once. He'd scamper about with the chain dripping from his chubby fingers, telling everyone that he wanted to be a pilot like his dad.

It makes Rey smile a little, the mental image of Ben as a fat, happy toddler, but it's a smile that's quick to fade as she's lanced through by a spike of ice-cold fury.  _He_ should  _have been a pilot,_ she thinks.  _The Jedi path brought him nothing but suffering. The Force used him for its own purposes and then cast him aside._ She's been dwelling on this ever since their eye-opening discussion in the cantina at the Kemal Station outpost. Ever since he told her about climbing out of the void on his own.

The Force wants something else from him now— from them both. But they were under no obligation to cater to its demands. They'd already done so once and it had cost them dearly.

_We can still run away together. Who is there to stop us? We can change course and leave the galaxy behind to burn._

The intercom crackles to life, sparing Rey from more of her dark musings.  _**"Everything all right?"** _

Ben's voice is tinged with static, modulated by the wires snaking through metal too dense for comlink frequencies to penetrate. It's a shade too close to what he'd sounded like from behind his old mask and Rey shivers, her free hand clutching his jacket tighter around her body.

She walks over to the intercom and presses the button. "Everything's fine. I'm about to head back."

_**"Don't take too long or I'll start missing you."** _

Rey is absolutely  _ mortified  _ by the giggle that escapes her lips. It's a little high-pitched and girlish, and upon hearing it she's hard-pressed to believe it comes from her at all. But she's unable to suppress it, so wonderfully helpless in the face of the pleasure that fills her in a rush of warmth. Of  _ light. _

The darkness retracts its claws.

"I haven't even been gone ten minutes," she admonishes him.

Ben's crooked, rueful grin is audible in his tone when he replies. He no longer sounds like Kylo Ren.  _**"I'll start missing you anyway."** _

Of course she has to kiss him for that. She all but flies into his arms the moment she sets foot inside the cockpit. He's standing— most likely stretching out legs cramped from the long haul in the pilot seat— and he catches her easily as she surges up on the tips of her toes and presses her lips to his.

It hadn't taken Rey very long to arrive at the conclusion that she can gladly spend the rest of her life kissing Ben Solo. She bemoans the fact that she is human and needs to breathe; when she pulls away, he chases her mouth and it is nothing short of a massive display of willpower that enables her to stop him, bracing her palms against his wide, enticingly muscled chest.

"I have to give this to you first," she insists, showing him the dice.

He turns solemn at once, his deep brown eyes softening in memory as the golden cubes catch the grimy light coming off of the  _ Falcon' _ s glow-panels. "Dad won this ship from Uncle Lando using those," he says. "He called them his lucky dice."

"Maybe now they'll bring you luck, too," Rey tells him quietly.

Although he says nothing in response, Ben leans down so she can slip the loop of twine over his head. When he straightens up, the pair of dice settle beside his heart and it seems to Rey that it's their rightful place.

Ben fiddles with them as if testing their weight, as if confirming that they're real. She remembers Crait, remembers the bond opening to show him on his knees in the abandoned Rebel base, cradling Luke's projection of the dice like they were sacred objects. He had looked so pale and so lost. She hadn't been able to tear her eyes away from his right up until the moment the  _ Falcon' _ s door slid shut.

But that was in the time before. Just as the dark side could not in the end hold sway over Han Solo's son, so too will the past cease to have power over Ben and Rey and all that they carry between them. She'll never allow it to be otherwise.

His free hand reaches out to her, cupping the back of her neck so he can guide her closer. "Thank you, beloved," he murmurs pressing a kiss to her forehead just as she starts to blush again.

☾✩☽

They sleep in shifts throughout the rest of the journey. The  _ Falcon  _ can't be left unattended while in hyperspace and, in spite of her mutinous compulsion to leave the galaxy to its own devices, Rey has to acknowledge that breaking up the jumps is a luxury they cannot in good conscience afford. The mysterious threat puts her friends in danger, too.

Besides, it would be nice to see Finn, Poe, Rose, and the droids again. She warms to the idea as they draw closer to Coruscant. There's the matter of how the hell she'll explain Ben strolling into Galactic Alliance headquarters a year after she told them that he died to save her on Exegol, but the mere fact that she  _ needs _ to explain it in the first place— it's a gift in itself. Its complications are secondary. She and Ben will just have to wing it when they meet with the others.

Rey's not  _ too  _ worried about that. Their shared history has made it clear that they do best when they're improvising.

"Has Chewbacca taken on an active role in this federal republic?" Ben asks, drowsy-eyed and nursing a cup of bitter caf as they pass through the Narvath sector.

It's preposterous he's even entertaining the notion that politics would be Chewie's style, but Rey sees the question for what it is. "He went back to Kashyyyk after the war," she says gently. "Rebuilding efforts are underway over there and he wanted to spend time with his clan. I visited him a few months back— he told me he's most likely quitting the spacer life for good."

Ben nods, staring moodily out the transparisteel viewport. She'd felt the bowcaster wound in his side twinge once or twice, via the bond, and she'd also felt it heal that stormy day on Kef Bir.

"His nephew, Lowie, is Force-sensitive," Rey continues, and Ben's gaze darts to her with a hint of surprise. "A rare thing for their species. Once-in-a-century kind of rare."

"Lucky bastard."

It's not the expletive that gives Rey pause. It's the fact that Ben's the one saying it, his perennial aristocratic tone laced with a sarcasm that's perfectly self-deprecating and deadpan. She wants to laugh. She wants to cry, to, for the boy who'd been so young when the burden of generations was placed on his shoulders.

Before she can do either, Ben continues his line of inquiry. "Why aren't you teaching him? Lowie, I mean."

She looks away, her gaze falling to the dashboard with its plethora of controls. Chewbacca had asked if she could, but... "I'm not ready, Ben."

She's afraid that he'll pry— and he  _ wants  _ to, she can sense it, can sense his mixture of frustration and curiosity rising to the surface, but he soon clamps down on it with some effort.

"All right," he says, amiably enough, and she's seized by the urge to apologize for being so cagey.

There is so much that she's not ready to give voice to yet. There is a year's worth of sorrow and failure that has sunk into the marrow of her bones.

In between shifts, they discuss other things as the hours tick by and the starlines of hyperspace pulse on like minnows in a stream. The  _ Falcon  _ is crossing from Merthian to the Iseno sector when Rey learns what really happened the night Luke raised his blade to his sleeping nephew— how it was a freak storm that had brewed above the temple and razed it to the ground, how the confrontation with the surviving apprentices had spun wildly out of control. How Snoke and the Knights of Ren had been the only ones Ben could turn to in the aftermath.

He is oddly calm and resigned as he retraces his trail of doom. The overall picture is that of a boy who'd had no choice, who'd been manipulated from the very beginning on account of a power and a legacy that he hadn't asked for in the first place.

Rey's aware that she is hardly an unbiased judge. If things were otherwise— if she didn't love him as much as she does— would these truths be enough to absolve him in her eyes?

She'll never know. All she's sure of is that Ben had come back to the light, and that there had still been light in him even amidst the machinations of all those who'd tried to extinguish it for their own purposes. It occurs to her that he might be the strongest person she's ever met.

He is  _ certainly _ the most stubborn.

☾✩☽

Coruscant went relatively untouched by the First Order's rise to power and its subsequent downfall. After the destruction of the Hosnian system, most of the remaining Core Worlds had quietly surrendered, and when the tide of war changed the First Order troops installed therein had just as quietly fled, thrown into disarray by the deaths of the Supreme Leader and other high-ranking officers at Exegol.

When Rey told Ben that she couldn't stand to remain on Coruscant for long periods of time due to the sheer number of people, it had been an excuse, but it hadn't been a lie. Although she braces herself as they make planetfall, the combined weight of billions upon billions of energy signatures still slams into her with all the force of a sack of bricks— or perhaps a massive wave, threatening to pull her under. She grimaces and bolsters her mental shields, taking refuge in the multiple steps of the landing sequence so she can shut out everything else.

The control tower at Galactic Alliance HQ— really just the old Imperial Palace, repurposed for this new era— wastes no time in granting the  _ Falcon  _ permission to dock. Rey Skywalker is their Jedi, after all. Their war hero. They'll probably be singing quite a different tune if they ever learn who her grandfather was.

Only Finn, Rose, Poe, and Chewie know.

Ben is clearly nervous as they prepare to disembark, chewing on his bottom lip, his complexion paler than usual. "Should we get you a mask?" Rey asks him.

She'd meant it as joke, albeit not a very good one—  _ she  _ is nervous, too— but he appears to give it serious consideration.

"It should be fine," he slowly says after a while. "I didn't... Not a lot of civilians saw my face, before. It was always Hux or Pryde making the announcements, giving the speeches. As for former Resistance personnel— I can use the Force to stay below their radar until we've secured a meeting with your friends. Somewhere private, obviously."

"Obviously." She hands him back his jacket, more than a little sad that their time alone has come to an end. But there will be other times, she'll make sure of it; they just have to get through this first.

_ Here we go,  _ Rey thinks as the  _ Falcon' _ s main door slides open and the ramp lowers, and she and Ben step out into the blazing sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ma sareen_ is [Ryl](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Twi%27leki) for "my sweet."
> 
> [Aurodium](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Aurodium).
> 
> Ben wearing Han's dice like a pendant is based on [this art](https://twitter.com/machodoodle/status/1210927478107099138?s=21) by machodoodle.
> 
> [Narvath sector](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Narvath_sector/Legends).
> 
> [Lowbacca](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Lowbacca).
> 
> [Merthian sector](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Merthian_sector).
> 
> [Iseno sector](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Iseno_sector).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I no longer have the sources for these, but it was reported several months ago that Rose had been promoted to the rank of commander and, more recently, that J.J. Abrams confirmed that Finn wanted to tell Rey he was Force-sensitive. Although these elements didn't make their way into the movie, I am choosing to move forward with them as TROS canon because #yolo. 😎

The docks for visitors are located to the side of a sprawling, busy courtyard, which is dominated by a towering white pillar capped off by a flag that bears what was formerly the Resistance symbol and is now the emblem of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. Behind the structure looms the old Imperial Palace, an amalgam of block-shaped edifices with facades that slope down from a quincunx of spires.

It's the pillar that captures Ben's interest. It appears to be a monument of sorts; as he and Rey draw closer, he notices that it's covered in etched strings of tiny Aurebesh lettering from top to base. Before he can read any of it, though, Rey's steps quicken and she grabs his arm and leads him to the palace's set of elaborate doors, giving the snowy-hued monolith a wide berth.

It's intentional. Ben  _knows_ it's intentional, because Rey always gets a certain look on her face when she's being less than honest— a certain defiance, like she's daring someone, most often him, to call her out. But he has little opportunity to so much as wonder what she doesn't want him to see because, all of a sudden, they're inside the headquarters of the Galactic Alliance and she's making a beeline for the front office.

The receptionist is an elderly Togruta with rusty red skin, cone-shaped montrals, and graceful, flowing lekku the color of ivory and sea foam. She's slouched behind a wraparound desk, sporting a bored expression as she files her nails.

Rey clears her throat. "We're here to see General Poe Dameron."

The Togruta barely glances up from her task. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Er, no—"

"It's appointments only in the morning. Walk-ins won't be entertained until after noonday break."

"Carshotta, it's me," Rey persists. She darts a furtive, almost ashamed glance at Ben before elaborating, "Rey Skywalker."

It's the first time he's actually heard her refer to herself as such. It elicits a sour feeling of wrongness in him that had been far easier to play off when he was drunk and cracking jokes about kissing cousins.

The receptionist— Carshotta— isn't impressed. "The Galactic Alliance will not afford special treatment to leaders, friends of leaders, war heroes, and the like," she intones. "All power to all the people, or else all power is a tool of systematic oppression."

"I see you've been talking to Rose," Rey grumps. "Look— we've come all the way from the Outer Rim. We  _need_ to meet with Poe. It's an emergency."

Carshotta exhales a long-suffering sigh, setting down her nail file with a pointed clatter and picking up her datapad. After a few minutes of typing, she offers Ben and Rey a curt nod. "General Dameron will see you now."

"Lovely woman," Ben quips to Rey once they've drifted out of earshot.

"She used to be a big star in a traveling carnival act," Rey says as they head to the turbolifts. "I think she's cranky that she had to retire from the stage, but she's good at her current job. This place would fall apart without her."

_This place_ is a maze of expansive corridors and pillared halls teeming with people of various species who scurry to and fro, some with noses buried in datapads, some rapidly chattering away on comlinks, others walking in groups and arguing among themselves as they hurry from one meeting to the next. There is none of the hushed precision that had been so characteristic of the First Order or the stateliness that Ben remembers from the few times his mother had brought him to the Senate. Perhaps that's a good thing.

Although a few individuals call out greetings to Rey, most are content to stare as she walks past them, her stride brisk, her chin held high, and the look on her face just shy of stonily unapproachable. Is this how she always is, or is it a ruse to prevent too much scrutiny from falling on her and, consequently, her companion? For his part, he is busy manipulating the currents of the Force to dampen others' perception of him; it's a lighter, more generalized variant of the mind trick, subtle nudges instead of brute shoves. Gazes flicker to him and then flicker away, deeming him inconsequential.

It works quite well, actually, and soon the turbolift doors are sliding shut. Ben and Rey stand side by side, saying nothing for a while. The contraption is old and slow, and it has creakily hauled them up a couple of levels when she turns to face him, her hazel eyes so wide and earnest.

"This is familiar," she says softly.

"It is," he agrees. His eyes drift over her features as he absently catalogs once again the placement of each freckle, the delicateness of the bow of her lips. "You were wearing your hair down."

How long is her hair now? He's seized by the urge to find out for himself, to tug each bun loose. To unravel her.

_"I saw your future,"_ she'd told him back then.  _"The shape of it."_

_"I saw something, too,"_ he'd replied.  _"You'll be the one to turn. You'll stand with me."_

It had all come true, in a fashion, at the very end. But he's not such a fool that he doesn't realize it could all have gone  _better,_ if only his choices had been different. If only he hadn't let the dark side consume him.

He's about to reach out to her, to pull her close, when the turbolift groans to a stop quite a few levels away from their destination and the doors hiss open, and a blond man with a scruffy beard strides in. Ben only has a second to register the flare of panic in Rey's Force signature before they're ascending again.

"Master Skywalker!" The blond man smiles at Rey, who's gone all tense while Ben does his very best to camouflage into the wall. "What brings you to Coruscant?"

"Oh, just—" Rey shrugs— "stuff. Good to see you, Beaumont."

"Lovely to see you as well. You should drop by more often." Beaumont turns to Ben, who can only grimace as recognition dawns on the other man's features in a slow wash of horror and bewilderment combined. "Y—  _you!"_

Rey moves as quickly as lightning, slipping in between the two other passengers as her fingers stretch out to the side of Beaumont's skull. "You don't know this man." Her voice rings with a quiet, measured authority. The Force  _hums._

"I don't know this man," Beaumont says, his blue eyes glazing over.

"You will exit the turbolift at the next level."

"I will exit the turbolift at the next level."

"You're a dunderhead," Ben helpfully chimes in.

"I'm a dunderhead," Beaumont echoes, resigned, as he does what Rey had bid.

Once they're alone again, Rey levels Ben with a stern glare, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He smirks. "What?"

☾✩☽

The top floor of Galactic Alliance HQ is home to the workstations of High Command— the seven officers of the former Resistance who are at the helm of the fledgling new republic until they complete the transition to a real democracy. It won't be for another few years yet— not until more progress has been made with the rebuilding efforts and the new generation of politicians finish their training— but Rey knows that, as far as Finn and Poe and Rose are concerned, it won't be a moment too soon. Her friends have learned the hard way that leading combat operations is far simpler and more preferable compared to trying to get an entire galaxy to cooperate with one another.

Poe has his back turned to the door when Ben and Rey enter his office, his head of curly brown hair bent over a map of Wild Space glowing in sapphire light above a holotable. Judging by the frustration that rolls off of his sinewy frame in waves, he's still embroiled in the logistical nightmare of shipping supplies to the remote sectors that had been hit hard during the war. The last time Rey visited Coruscant, Poe had been attempting to devise a more efficient route.

He doesn't immediately react to the arrival of his visitors. This in itself is already an indication of how much things have changed— Poe Dameron the soldier, the ace pilot, would have whirled around in a flash, always gung-ho, always  _ready._ Instead, he merely calls out, "That you, Rey?" in a distracted tone of voice, still deep in thought.

"Don't freak out," Rey says.

Poe glances at her over his shoulder. "Why would I..."

He trails off, his mouth snapping shut at the sight of Ben.

Of all her friends' possible reactions to the return of Ben Solo that Rey had been frantically envisioning,  _this_ hadn't been on the list— Poe very slowly, very carefully switching off the holo, and then just as slowly and just as carefully walking over to his desk and taking a seat.

"Poe?" she ventures as he and Ben stare at each other in silence.

"I'm not freaking out," Poe says. "You told me not to freak out, so I'm not. This is me not freaking out." He presses a button on the intercom at his desk. "Finn, could you come in here, please?"

There's a synthleather couch shoved up against the wall. Rey decides to make herself comfortable but Ben stays rooted to the spot, wary and incredibly obvious in his wish to be anywhere but here. It's not long before Finn's strolling into Poe's office, holding an open packet of moss chips in one hand and blithely munching away.

"Rey, you're here!" he exclaims, beaming, mouth full, the door shutting behind him. "What—" He freezes mid-chew, his gaze landing on Ben— "the  _fu—"_

"My sentiments exactly," Poe interrupts with all the conscientiousness of a struggling amateur diplomat who has recently been advised that foul language can cause a tense situation to deteriorate even further.

"We can explain." Rey pats the empty space next to her on the couch. "Finn? Do you want to sit down?"

Finn shoves another moss chip into his mouth, crunching it viciously and deliberately. "I'm good where I am."

His meaning is clear. He wants to remain on his feet so that he can quickly subdue Ben if the latter were to do anything suspicious.

Ben picks up on Finn's reasoning right away. "What are you going to do," he drawls, "throw junk food at me?"

"Kriff," Rey mutters under her breath while Finn bristles, the foil packet crinkling as the hand clutching it draws into a fist.

"Okay,  _no,"_ he snarls, narrowing his eyes at Ben. "We're not going to do that thing where we waste time trading smartass remarks. I'm not Poe—"

"Hey!"

Finn waves a dismissive hand in the other general's direction, focusing solely on the person whom he must for all intents and purposes think is a ghost. "I don't want to hear another word out of you unless it's to explain why you're here.  _How_ you're here." He pauses as an idea occurs to him. "Are you projecting from the afterlife?"

"I'm not dead," Ben replies tersely. "I  _was_ dead, but the Daughter brought me back."

"Who," Finn says, in an admirable albeit slightly put-upon display of patience, "is the Daughter?"

"She's also dead." The faintest of sardonic grins curls at the corners of Ben's lips as the younger man starts to look like he's about to pop a blood vessel. Finally, though, he relents. "She was an extremely powerful Force wielder. Her spirit now dwells in the Netherworld, which is where I met her, and she resurrected me."

Poe speaks up. "And she did this out of the goodness of her spectral heart, or...?"

Finn shoots him a pointed glance. "What did I say about wasting time with smartass remarks?"

"Can't remember, I only caught the part where  _you_ waste time scolding me for making them—"

_"Enough,"_ Rey growls. The room immediately falls silent, three pairs of eyes swiveling towards her. "The Force brought Ben back to life because his time wasn't done yet. He wasn't supposed to die on Exegol. There is something dangerous that has made its way into our galaxy and Ben and I need to stop it before it destroys us all." She is  _perhaps_ laying it on a bit thick, but she has to stress how utterly vital Ben is so that High Command doesn't end up throwing him behind bars.

To her friends' credit, they more or less take the revelation in stride; they'd seen for themselves what the Force was capable of during the war. And although Rey can sense that the conversation about Ben Solo and his allegiances is far from over, Finn and Poe are leaders, first and foremost— they've had to be. Poe is all business when he asks, brow knitted in concern, "So what's this new threat, then?"

"We don't know," says Rey. "That's why we came here— to see if Galactic Alliance intelligence might have picked up anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like the best place to start."

Finn and Poe exchange looks. "I wonder if it's..." muses the former.

"Yeah, yeah." Poe reaches for his datapad. "Let me pull up the file."

Rey makes eye contact with Ben from across the room. She offers a small, tentative smile; in contrast, he doesn't seem particularly encouraged by the way events are unfolding, but he nods stiffly at her.

_Such a grump,_ Rey thinks with fondness. It's going so much smoother than she'd ever dared to hope. No one's drawn their lightsaber, no one's gotten shot, and Finn's even resumed chowing down on his moss chips...

The door opens. A spherical, orange and white astromech droid comes trundling in, followed by Commander Rose Tico.

"Poe? I've fixed Beebee's photoreceptor, there was a loose wire causing significant processing delay. His optics should be as good as—" Rose stops in her tracks, Ben's six-foot-three frame naturally the first thing in the room to catch her attention— "new," she squeaks out, utter shock written all over her olive-toned features.

And, before Rey can say or do anything, before she can assure the other woman that Ben means no harm, before any member of what has become a frozen tableau can even  _begin_ to catch Rose up on the situation—

— BB-8 _charges._

☾✩☽

So far, Han Solo's lucky dice are doing a crap job, because it is not— by any stretch of the imagination— Ben's day  _at all._

Not only did he get recognized in the turbolift, not only has he been forced to endure the most awkward conversation in the history of the spoken tongue with two former enemies, not only is Rey several feet away from him instead of by his side— but he is  _also_ currently being attacked by a ball.

Unleashing the shrillest of battle cries, BB-8 rams into his shins. Ben topples over, crashing to the floor with an undignified yelp, and then the droid is upon him, zapping him repeatedly with an arc welder. There's a lot of shouting that sounds far away over the rapid-fire bursts of electric heat being injected into Ben's system; he's seeing stars by the time Rey has scrambled to her feet and shot out a hand to telekinetically wrench BB-8 away from him. BB-8 emits an indignant screech as he's blasted into the air and sent sprawling across Poe's desk, rolling onto the floor with a heavy thunk.

Poe has also stood up at some point within the last few seconds and is now brandishing an outraged finger at Rey. "Don't use the Force on my droid!"

"Don't yell at her!" Finn snaps at Poe.

"Don't let your droid attack innocent bystanders!" Rey yells back in kind, rushing to kneel at Ben's side.

Finn rounds on her in disbelief. "Don't call him innocent—"

"Don't," Rose addresses everyone in the office. "Just don't." She locks the door and then plops down into the nearest available chair, her gaze falling on Rey and Ben. Whatever she sees as Rey runs her hands over Ben's crumpled form in a methodical search for any lasting injuries, she keeps to herself.

"Let's start from the top," Rose suggests.

Since Rey doesn't answer, too preoccupied with channeling healing energy into Ben's veins to wear away the scorch marks and the lingering static, Ben takes it upon himself to launch into a curt, dry recapitulation. Rey shifts his head onto her lap while he speaks and, by the time he falls silent, she's cradling his face in one work-roughened palm while her free hand strokes his hair.

Actually, it hadn't hurt all that much compared to past trials, but he'd be lying if he were to say that there isn't at least  _some_ measure of enjoyment derived from Rey fussing over him.  _Especially_ in front of Finn and Poe, who are casting dark glares at the two of them.

"How do we know for sure that we can trust you?" Rose asks Ben bluntly. "Rey's not what I'd call unbiased— no offense, Rey—"

"I'm sure you meant a  _little_ offense," Rey grumbles.

To Ben's surprise, it's Finn who begrudgingly says, "He's telling the truth."

Poe and Rose appear to relax at this, if only by a small amount. Confused as to why they'd take Finn at his word— and why Finn would even vouch for him in the first place— Ben extends his perception, trying to glean what he can from everything unspoken that's hanging in the air.

"You're Force-sensitive," Ben realizes out loud, peering at Finn from where he's sprawled on the floor.

"Shut up," Finn tells him, with feeling.

Rey hunches protectively over Ben.  _"Finn."_

He ignores her, turning to Poe. "Do you have that file yet?"

"Oh." Poe blinks. "Right." He grabs his datapad, but not before reaching down to give a very disgruntled BB-8 a pat on his domed metal head. Ben makes eye contact with the droid's photoreceptor, hoping that the expression on his face makes it clear that  _this isn't over._

BB-8 flicks out his blowtorch with all the aplomb of someone flipping the bird.

Thankfully, Rey either doesn't notice this interaction or she chooses not to mind it. "Are you all right?" she asks Ben gently.

She looks so concerned that he can't stop himself from grabbing hold of her wrist, squeezing once in reassurance. Finn is quite emphatically not looking at them, but Rose  _is,_ her eyebrows all but disappearing into her hairline.

"Okay, here it is," Poe announces a short while after Rey has helped Ben to his feet. "Nine standard days ago, we received a dispatch from one of our contacts in the Outer Rim. He thinks the Hutts are up to something."

Ben scoffs. "When are the Hutts ever  _not_ up to something?"

"I'll give you that," Poe says, "but our contact believes this is a special case. He has someone on the inside with the Besadii kajidic and, according to that person, there's been a lot of offworlders moving around the Y'Toub system as of late."

"What sort of offworlders?" Rey asks.

Poe shrugs. "Our contact doesn't know. His spy doesn't recognize the species, but apparently they're  _strange—_ and so are their ships. I put in a request for more information. Still waiting on that."

"Could be nothing," Rose chimes in. "Could just be a new trade deal in the works, in which case the Galactic Alliance will have to keep an eye on it, but it's hardly sufficient reason for the Force to bring someone back to life. However, since you're searching for something out of the ordinary, Nal Hutta strikes me as the best place to start."

"And with that," Finn says, "I'd like to invite my co-leaders to join me in a private meeting."

Without further ado, he leads Poe and Rose to a side door that Rey knows from previous visits leads to the 'fresher. "That went well," she says to Ben once the aforementioned door has shut.

"I'd have to agree," Ben concedes. "With the exception of the droid—" And here he darts a censuring look at BB-8, who's stayed behind and is surveying him with all the wariness of a guard dog— "your friends are taking this remarkably calmly."

"I told them what happened on Exegol. And, well—" Rey's chest puffs with pride— "they're in charge of an entire galaxy now, aren't they? They've really matured."

Suddenly, muffled shouting emanates from behind the 'fresher door. The three voices are indistinct but heated, and one increases in volume long enough for Rey to catch the words,  _"— Just comes waltzing in here with his_ stupid _hair—!"_

"I spoke too soon," Rey sighs, not knowing whether to admonish Ben for the return of the smirk on his pale, handsome face, or to  _kiss_ it off of him.

After several minutes of blistering argument, Finn, Poe, and Rose march out of the 'fresher.

"Okay!" Rose says briskly, nodding at Ben and Rey. "We need a few hours to put together a game plan— establish communication lines and safety nets and all that— then we're off to Hutt Space."

_"We?"_ Ben echoes.

"Oh, yes." Rose stares him down. "We're going with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Aurebesh](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Aurebesh/Legends).
> 
> [Togruta](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Togruta/Legends).
> 
> [Carshotta](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Carshotta/Legends).
> 
> [Beaumont Kin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Beaumont_Kin).
> 
> [Turbolift](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Turbolift).
> 
> [Wild Space](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wild_Space/Legends).
> 
> [Holotable](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Holotable).
> 
> [Synthleather](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Synthleather).
> 
> [Moss chips](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Moss_chips/Legends).
> 
> [Photoreceptor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Photoreceptor/Legends).
> 
> [Arc welder](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arc_welder).
> 
> [The Besadii clan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Besadii/Legends).
> 
> [Kajidic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kajidic/Legends).
> 
> [Y'Toub System](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Y%27Toub_system).
> 
> [Nal Hutta](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nal_Hutta/Legends).
> 
> ['Fresher](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Refresher/Legends).
> 
> [Hutt Space](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hutt_Space/Legends).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to solosheart for [the brilliant gifset](https://solosheart.tumblr.com/post/190818029054) and michelleaneousart for [this gorgeous piece](https://michelleaneousart.tumblr.com/post/611213667222077440/this-is-all-kylorenvevos-fault-a-little-reylo)! I hope you guys will like this new chapter and that you'll let me know what you think!

Finn, Poe, and Rose can be devious when they put their minds to it— when they set aside their differences and work as a team, united by one common goal It's why the galaxy hasn't collapsed in on itself in the months following the end of the conflict between the First Order and the Resistance. It's why Rey is having tea in the mess hall with Finn while Ben remains upstairs with Poe and Rose.

"Time to brainstorm," Poe had announced, and Finn had chimed in to say that, _actually,_ he was feeling a bit peckish.

"Why don't you go down to the mess hall while we get started in here— you know, to save time," Rose had suggested, conveniently failing to point out that Finn had just demolished an entire bag of moss chips.

"Great idea!" Finn had said. "Let's go, Rey." And he'd taken her arm and ushered her out into the corridor so expediently that she hadn't been able to protest— had only managed to glance back at Ben, whose face was rapidly draining of color like she was leaving him to his doom, before Poe shut the door.

It had all gone like clockwork. Her friends had quite neatly separated her and Ben for the talk that Rey can sense is coming. She sips her Deychin tea and takes a bite out of her molecularly agitated cheese sandwich, and she waits.

The mess hall is mostly deserted, the work day being in full swing. Still, Finn had led her to a table for two in the corner, out of earshot of the Twi'leks helping themselves to piles of raw munch-fungus soaked in broth, the Bothans slurping on glowing turquoise noodles, and the Quarrens popping squirming nudibranchs into their tentacled mouths.

Despite his own tea and sandwich laid out in front of him, Finn abandons all pretense of being hungry. "So." He clasps his hands together atop the table, leaning forward.

"So," echoes Rey.

He sighs. "Look. You told me what went down in the Sith Eternal's lair and of course I believe you, but the thing is— Poe, Rose, and I, we only know this man from our own experiences with him. We only know him as Kylo Ren. It's going to be very difficult for us to separate past from present, and what _that_ means, Rey, is there's bound to be hiccups during this little field trip. If I— if _we_ say or do anything that''ll disrupt the peace, I need you to understand that it comes from a place of being worried about you."

Her brow knits in confusion. "Why are you worried about me?"

"Well, for starters, you've practically been living in exile—"

"I have _not—"_

"You said you were going to Tatooine just to bury the lightsabers," Finn interrupts. "A few weeks later, you went back and you _stayed."_

There is something rising to the surface of his energy signature— a deep sense of betrayal that she feels him willfully suppress before it can consume him. Finn's natural attunement to the Force is more emotional than physical; it had been what shielded him from the stormtrooper program's rigorous brainwashing, it had ensured that he remained wholly himself. In these new days, he has learned— with a little initial training from Rey— how to use the Force to gauge a situation and prevent his emotions from getting the better of him.

In this respect, he is a better diplomat than Poe, although Rey supposes that the resurrection of the former Supreme Leader and Master of the Knights of Ren would be a curveball for anyone.

"I like Tatooine," she mumbles, looking down at her half-eaten sandwich.

"Nobody likes Tatooine," Finn retorts. "People just exist there. It's hardly what anyone in their right mind would call a life."

"Your point being?" she asks stiffly.

"I know that Ren—" He pauses a beat too long before making the correction— "that Ben Solo and what happened to him was a major factor in your decision to isolate yourself. Now that he's back, your energy signature is more..." Finn waves a hand as if hoping to pluck the right words from thin air. "It's _solider,_ somehow. More present. It hasn't been like that since— well, since the war ended."

Rey finally brings herself to meet her friend's gaze. His bewilderment is genuine, but so is his concern. "Ben and I are a dyad in the Force," she tells him— tells _someone,_ at last. At long last. "We're two halves of the same soul. When he died, it felt like part of me had been ripped away."

Finn's shoulders slump at the weight of this new information. "I realized that there was something. The way you were so sad, how hard you fought to clear his name... I realized that you had feelings for him, even though I didn't understand how you possibly could. But I had no idea that the bond ran so deep. I wish you would've let us help. We care about you."

She blinks away tears. "No one could have helped me. I relocated to Tatooine because it was easier to not be surrounded by people who were happy that the war was over, people who moved on like nothing happened..."

Finn looks at her sharply. "Poe drank two bottles of oil-rig whiskey in the course of a single weekend because Snap Wexley's starfighter went down over Exegol," he points out. "Rose still cries about Paige when she thinks no one is watching."

Rey flinches. "I— I didn't know."

"You weren't here." It's more a calm statement of a fact than a reproach, but she can't help the guilt that comes seeping in before he continues, "My point is, we all lost somebody, but here on Coruscant we're carrying one another through it as we do the work that needs to be done. I regret that we weren't able to carry you, too."

"It's not your fault. As I said, no one could have helped." Rey feels oddly selfish for saying all of this, but she owes her friend the truth. "With Ben, the loss is— was— physical. What he and I have, it's— different."

"Just because it's different doesn't mean it's good for you," Finn counters.

Rey immediately goes on the defensive. "Can we not do this right now?" she snaps. "It isn't as if I'm unaware of all that Ben has done— I was there for quite a few of them— but I wouldn't be here _now,_ having tea with you, if it weren't for him. And, _stars,_ Finn, you _know_ Palpatine was pulling the strings right from the start—"

"That doesn't excuse—"

"You're saying that because you were able to make a choice!" Her heightened tone causes the Bothans to look over at their table; she grits her teeth and lowers her voice. "Poe was there for you, because of him you were able to escape the First Order, to _run._ But Ben didn't have anyone to help him. He was alone." She swallows. "Like I was, before I met you."

Rey holds Finn's gaze, pouring two years' worth of friendship forged in fire into the connection. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, willing him to understand— or, at the very least, to come to terms—

"It wasn't easy for me," he says softly. "I made a choice to leave everything I ever knew. There was no mercy for defectors who got caught. And if Poe hadn't been there, I would have found some other way out. I don't think that makes me better than anyone else, but I do think it means _something."_

"I wasn't implying—" She stops, hanging her head. She has tunnel vision when it comes to Ben. She hadn't considered how her words would come across. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I'll do what I can to make the situation less fraught, but afterwards..." Finn shrugs. "It's not that difficult to pardon a dead man. Hell, even to call him a hero, who turned at the last minute. I truly don't know what's going to happen now that he's _not_ dead."

"We'll figure it out," Rey vows.

_We_ have _to,_ she thinks.

They finish their meal in silence.

☾✩☽

Poe had dropped the vaguely congenial act once Finn and Rey left the room. A while has passed since then; currently, his arms are crossed, and he and Rose are fixing Ben with hard stares while the latter lounges in his chair as insouciantly as he can given the fact that BB-8 is a tiny round menace beside him, ready to deliver another electric jolt to his ribs at the slightest provocation.

"Are you in collusion with the First Order remnant?" Poe demands.

It's a struggle to not roll his eyes, but Ben somehow manages. "If I were, I wouldn't be here."

"You could be leading us into a trap," Poe insists. "You faked your death and lay low until things calmed down so you could strike when we least expect it— _didn't you?"_

"You're giving me far too much credit, Dameron," Ben drawls.

The other man opens his mouth to argue, but Rose cuts him off. "He has a point, Poe. From what Rey's told us about this guy, he's not the devious type. Honestly, I doubt he's smart enough to play the long game like that."

Ben glowers at her. "And what _exactly_ did Rey tell you?"

Rose glowers right back. "That you stormed a Sith Lord's fortress of evil armed with nothing but a single blaster, dressed in your pajamas."

He arches a brow. "Did she actually say _pajamas?"_

"Well— no." The commander smirks. "But that's how I like to imagine it."

"I'm _so_ glad," Poe huffs, "that we've switched to discussing Kylo Ren's wardrobe choices instead of the more important matters at hand."

"That's not my name anymore," Ben says, keeping his tone level and firm even though hearing the aforementioned name is like a punch to the gut.

"Yeah? You liked it well enough when you turned your back on General Organa—" Poe's lips abruptly clamp together. He stalks over to a shelf across the room, as far away from Ben as possible, and he leans against it as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Ben suddenly finds the wall to be of great interest; out of the corner of his eye, Rose fidgets uneasily, looking from one man to the other and then back again.

_Should've stayed dead,_ Ben muses to himself with a hint of the sardonic bitterness that had become all too familiar as time wore on. It is more excruciating than he could ever have braced for, being in the galaxy again and having to face the people who keenly felt the echoes of his sins, but it is what it is. There is no other way out but _through._ He will have to accept the blow of each moment in order to move on to the next, and perhaps at the end of it all there will be some form of redemption that'll enable Rey's friends to think more kindly of him.

Not that he particularly cares for their opinion, but Poe and Finn and Rose are important to Rey. Ben has no wish to continue being a source of fracture in her relationship with them.

From beyond the veil of the life after, his mother's voice whispers into his mind, telling him what he needs to say.

Or, to be more accurate, what _Poe_ needs to _hear._

"I have made peace with Leia Organa," Ben explains into the tense silence. "We speak on occasion, when she comes to me in the Force."

"And how can I be sure that you're not lying?" Poe asks, looking at him with weary eyes.

Ben meets his gaze, unflinching. "Naboo, Endor, Ben, three four two," he says simply.

A muscle clenches along Poe's jaw at this— Leia's personal code. BB-8 recognizes it as well; chirping mournfully, he retracts his arc welder and backs away from Ben, his hostility vanishing.

"Her mother, her wedding, her son," Poe mumbles to himself, his features collapsing with a piercing grief that resonates through Ben's own heart. "Commander Tico?" Poe turns to Rose. "What is your assessment?"

Rose studies Ben for several long moments before finally saying, "I think we have to trust Rey. And— and Leia."

"Fine." Poe walks back to his desk, his steps uncharacteristically slow and ponderous, almost defeated. He all but sags into his chair. "Fine," he repeats. "We'll work together for now."

_Don't be a smartass, don't be a smartass,_ Ben's common sense pleads, but he couldn't have held back any more than he could have refrained from sneezing. "I thought we were already doing that. Isn't accusing your allies of treachery the first step of any reasonable plan?"

Poe grips his datapad like he wants to chuck it at Ben's head. "Watch it, Solo."

☾✩☽

"You can stop interrogating him now," Rey announces as she troops back into Poe's office with Finn.

Poe attempts a half-hearted _Who, me?_ expression, slouched in his swivel chair with his booted feet propped up on his desk, but Rose offers a wry, faintly apologetic smile. Rey supposes she can't begrudge her friends _too_ much— they're only looking out for her, and they have to take into account their duty to keep the Galactic Alliance safe while they're at it.

She walks over to Ben, who's sitting rigidly across from Poe but observes her approach with something like relief. "Everything all right?" she asks quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"As well as can be expected." Ben reaches up to cover her hand with his much larger one, his thumb stroking across her knuckles.

Finn looks like he's about to be violently ill. Rose examines her fingernails. Poe's jaw drops.

Rey silently dares any of them to utter a single word.

"Yeah, so— I'm not going to deal with _that_ right now," Poe declares after a short pause. "I'm at, like, emotional capacity. Let's just talk about the mission."

Rose is all too glad to take that as her cue. "While you were at the mess hall, I messaged with the Outer Rim contact who tipped us off," she says to Finn and Rey. "He might know a way to get us into Durga the Hutt's palace. We'll rendezvous with him at Nar Shaddaa."

Finn groans. "Why _there?"_

"And why do we have to infiltrate Durga's palace?" Rey adds.

"Our contact has been unable to gain any additional information remotely. According to him, our best bet is to crack Durga or his advisors," Rose explains. "The Cartel has eyes everywhere in Hutt Space, but _especially_ on their homeworld. It's easier to hold a clandestine preliminary meeting on the moon that orbits it, and holding said meeting is far better than going into Nal Hutta blind."

"Nar Shaddaa is just— such a _dump,_ that's all," Finn grumbles. "Why can't we ever go somewhere _nice?"_

"What, like Canto Bight?" Rose quips, and he flashes a reluctant if somewhat abashed grin.

Poe speaks up. "General Ematt will hold down the fort while we're away. Finn, Rose, we should talk to him before we leave— don't worry, we'll be vague," he assures Rey as he catches sight of her concerned expression. "We won't say anything about Force resurrections and all that. But Ematt _does_ need to know that three fellow members of High Command will be gone for a while."

Rey nods. "Ben and I will wait for you on the _Falcon,_ then." A thought occurs to her. "Who are we rendezvousing with on Nar Shaddaa?"

Poe, Finn, and Rose exchange glances.

"That's classified information," Poe carefully replies. "It will be dispensed on a need-to-know basis."

"Well, Ben and I definitely _need to know,_ since we're meeting with him," Rey says, annoyed. "We'll find out when we get there, anyway—"

"Exactly," says Finn. "You'll find out when we get there."

"We have to protect the identities of our contacts as much as possible," Rose tells Rey gently. "It's Galactic Alliance policy. Our intelligence network could collapse if we don't take the necessary precautions."

"And you still don't trust Ben," Rey snaps, her temper rising. "That's it, isn't it?" Her friends don't say anything in response, but the looks on their faces speak volumes. "What, do you think he's going to dash off a communique to the First Order remnant while we're traveling, or—"

Ben tightens his grip on her hand. She peers down at him. "It's all right," he says, solemn and soothing.

Rey takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Were she in Poe, Finn, and Rose's shoes, this is the best way to minimize the risks of a confusing situation littered with so many unknown variables. Logically, she realizes that— but she doesn't _like_ it.

"Fine," she grits out. "Let's go, Ben." To the others, she issues a curt, "See you on the ship."

☾✩☽

Rey's still fuming as they exit the main building of Galactic Alliance headquarters. Ben thinks she's adorable, all furrowed brow and scrunched-up nose, and it is both strange and somewhat wonderful to have someone defend him, even though he's aware that he doesn't truly deserve it.

But it also means that she's too preoccupied to notice that they're nearing the mysterious white pillar in the middle of the courtyard until he stops walking so he can study it.

"Don't—" Rey starts to say, but it's too late.

The Aurebesh symbols etched into the ivory surface are all names. The names of Resistance members and allies who died in the conflict.

It's a memorial.

_Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo,_ Ben reads. _Admiral Gial Ackbar. Corporal Paige Tico._ And so on and on.

Then there are inscriptions for _The lost souls of the Hosnian system. The lost souls of Kijimi._ Too many to have been named one by one. It wouldn't all have fit on a single pillar, or even dozens.

Seeing the war laid out like this, captured forever in immovable lines of cold white marble and bright golden sunlight, Ben feels as though he is made of glass. Ready to shatter at any moment.

_I did this,_ he thinks numbly. _All of this blood is on my hands._

His eyes drift to a point near the base, in the center, and his breath catches in his throat.

They'd given his father and his uncle their old Rebel Alliance commissions. _General Han Solo. General Luke Skywalker._

Beside _General Leia Organa_ is carved an upside-down triangle composed of interlacing curves— the Crest of Alderaan.

And below that is written—

_Ben Solo._

"I fought to have your name put there, with your family." Rey's crying now, her fists clenched at her sides. "I told High Command that they owed me for killing Palpatine. It was the one thing I asked of them." Her hazel eyes flash, fierce and defiant and tear-stained. "I'll never regret it. No matter what."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Deychin tea](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Deychin_tea).
> 
> [Molecularly agitated cheese sandwich](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Molecularly_agitated_cheese_sandwich).
> 
> [Munch-fungus](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Munch-fungus).
> 
> [Bothan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Bothan/Legends).
> 
> [Glowblue noodles](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Glowblue_noodles_and_chav).
> 
> [Quarren](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Quarren/Legends).
> 
> [Sulyet](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sulyet).
> 
> [Hedrett oil-rig whiskey](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hedrett_oil-rig_whiskey).
> 
> The callback to Leia's personal code in this chapter was inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://smols-darklighter.tumblr.com/post/168828204801/chelliaphra-the-poe-comic-keeps-giving-me-all).
> 
> [Durga the Hutt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Durga_Besadii_Tai).
> 
> [Nar Shaddaa](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nar_Shaddaa/Legends).
> 
> [The Hutt Cartel](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hutt_Cartel).
> 
> [Caluan Ematt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Caluan_Ematt).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world might be falling apart but at least I have IKG Ben and Rey 😤 Thank you for all the wonderful comments on the last chapter! This week we also have [an awesome playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0nHjam1Arvhwmvh4ZvuChz?si=7rURS6XjQmafspJRkh3SrA) by justhereforthereylo and [a beautiful and hilarious piece](https://michelleaneousart.tumblr.com/post/611606373369856000) by michelleaneousart. ❤️

Ben ushers Rey into the  _Falcon_ posthaste. Copious amounts of tears are pouring down her cheeks and it would lead to nothing short of a world of trouble if someone were to think he was responsible for making the last Jedi cry— which he supposes isn't  _too_ far off the mark. Once inside the privacy of the ship, he scoops her up and she lets herself be carried willingly, hiding her face in his neck and clinging to him for dear life as he strides into the dingy lounge and takes a seat on the tattered couch.

He tightens his arms around her, strewing kisses all over her hair, his own eyes suspiciously wet. Her energy signature is all tangled up in bitterness and grief, and it takes no great effort to fall back into self-loathing when she's like this because of him. He should have found a way off the Deep sooner. He should have been strong enough to hold on to his first life. He should have gone with his father when the latter showed up on Starkiller Base. He should never have joined Snoke.

And so on and on, a trail of recriminations. He reflects bleakly on his past choices as he embraces the woman trapped in the wake of their fallout. He walks the pathways of regret.

Rey peeks up at him through lashes spangled with tears. The bond has stirred without Ben noticing, so faint is its glow these days. Somehow it has managed to broadcast his dark musings and she looks stricken, touching his face, the roughened pad of her thumb tracing where the scar had been. "As long as we're talking about should-haves," she says hoarsely, "maybe I should have taken your hand— either on the  _Supremacy_ or on the  _Steadfast._ Maybe I should have gone to Exegol with you and we could have killed Palpatine together. Or maybe  _I_ should have been strong enough to surmount the lightning unscathed."

"Rey, no, don't do that," Ben protests. His own hand rises to cradle her face, so that they are mirror images of each other in this moment. "Don't blame yourself— it—"

_It tears me up inside._

She offers him a thin, watery smile. "Now you know how I feel when  _you_ blame yourself. So—" She turns slightly to nuzzle into the mound of his cupped palm— "so don't do that anymore, okay?"

It is easy— it is instinct— to lean down and kiss her. He'd intended for it to be a chaste, dry peck, a simple affirmation of all that he carries in his heart, but  _that_ flies out the window as soon as their lips touch. She parts her mouth for him eagerly and she tastes like salt and like yearning as she strokes his face, as he runs a hand down her spine.

The next several minutes are a blur of tangled tongues and wandering fingers, Rey shifting in Ben's lap to straddle him fully and gasping into the kiss when he cups her bottom, giving in to his urges enough that he squeezes her pert cheeks before he even fully realizes what he's doing.

Stars, but she has a nice ass. That had always been one of the many scattered thoughts that flickered through his mind every time he watched her run from him.

_"Ben."_ Rey pulls away and giggles, despite her lingering tears.

Kriff. The bond is in fine form today.

"Sorry," he mumbles, blushing.

She's a little pink in the face as well, but she shakes her head as she wriggles back against his hand, practically seating herself on it. "Do it again," she breathes.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Ben tightens his grip once more, his fingers digging into the shapely, pliant flesh through the thin fabric of Rey's leggings. A tiny sigh of pleasure bubbles up her throat and she starts kissing his neck. He leans back to grant her lips full access as he continues palming her ass, his blood rushing south...

It sounds very far away, the hydraulic hiss of the  _Falcon'_ s main door sliding open. "Rey?" Finn calls out.

_"Damn it,"_ Ben swears vehemently under his breath.

Rey scrambles off of his lap, stealing one last kiss to the tip of his nose before she skips out of the lounge. Ben allows himself a minute or two to sulk while waiting for what had been the beginnings of an erection to subside.

When he joins Rey and  _the gang—_ as he's taken to sardonically calling them in his head— they appear to be in the middle of an argument. The tension is palpable even from out in the access corridor, where he hovers awkwardly, reluctant to actually enter the cockpit.

Poe and Rey are glaring daggers at each other as BB-8 stands between them, domed head swiveling from one to the other and then back again like a lost child. Finn has plunked down into the co-pilot seat and is also regarding Rey with a censorious expression.

Rose Tico is just... leaning against the wall and staring off into space, clearly fed up.

A muscle spasms in Poe's jaw as he catches sight of Ben standing at the threshold. "I am just saying," he tells Rey in a tone of painfully forced calm, "that— as the leader of this mission and a  _fairly decent_ pilot in my own right—"

"And  _I'm_ saying—" Rey's tone isn't calm at all, she obviously has no compunctions picking a fight in Ben's presence— "that it's his father's ship, and Han would want—"

All of a sudden, Ben is seized by the extremely visceral fear that someone— either Finn or Poe— will muster a scathing response along the lines of how what Han would have wanted was to not be dead. It's what  _he_ would say if he were in their shoes. And if it— or something like it— were to be uttered now, there would be a repeat of the cantina brawl on Kemal Station, with Ben throwing the first punch.

To prevent this from happening, he speaks up. "I must have missed the part where we elected  _you_ the leader of this mission, Dameron."

Poe blinks, annoyed. "I'm  _always_ the leader. Of  _every_ mission."

"This one wouldn't even have come about had it not been for the information  _I_ gave you," Ben retorts.

" _What_ information?" Poe cries. "You said there was a threat to the galaxy and that's  _it._ It was  _my_ intelligence network that gave us a jumping-off point— that gave us some  _direction—"_

"Okay, it's settled!" Rose says loudly. " _I'm_ the mission leader."

Ben and Poe gape at her in surprise but, before they can protest, Rey quickly chimes in. "Capital idea, Rose— I mean, Commander Tico." She darts Ben a look that causes him to snap his mouth shut.

Poe is not so easily quelled. "But—"

"As your superior officer, I won't tolerate my decisions being questioned, General Dameron," Rose airily cuts across. "All right,  _so—_ it'll take a hundred and fifty seven hours on a Class 0.5 hyperdrive to reach Nar Shaddaa. We'll break that up into ten-hour shifts, with the last leg on the Ootmian Pabol divided further into five hours each. There are three people on this team who have experience piloting the  _Falcon—"_ She points at Ben, Rey, and Poe— "and Finn, BB-8, and I will alternate on co-pilot duty. This will ensure that we're all well-rested and alert by the time we touch down on the Smuggler's Moon." She waits for everyone to nod— some more glumly than others— and then continues, "Finn and Poe will take the first shift. After coming all the way from Tatooine, Ben and Rey need to sleep."

Ben searches Rose's face, startled by the fact that she'd called him by his first true name, but her expression remains strictly businesslike.

"What will  _you_ be doing?" Finn asks Rose.

_"I,"_ she haughtily replies, "will be playing Dejarik with BB-8 until it's mine and Rey's turn in the cockpit. Now— let's get a move on."

☾✩☽

There's no question of who Rey will be sharing a room with on this trip, although she suspects that Finn and Poe are going to be less than enthused once they find out. But with the two of them busy running preflight checks, there's no one to stop her from leading Ben into her quarters and firmly locking the door.

"Is she always like that?" Ben asks, tilting his head at her as she perches on the edge of the bed and tugs off her boots.

"Rose?" Rey pauses, biting her lip as she considers, then grins. "Yeah, she's really bossy. Keeps all of us in line."

"I can believe it." Ben falls into a contemplative sort of silence as he watches Rey unfasten her utility belt, tossing it carelessly to the floor. He steps forward, clearing his throat, when she begins taking down her hair. "Let me."

Her heart skips a beat. She almost nods before she remembers that she hasn't washed her hair in days— and then she's paralyzed by self-consciousness.

Grooming had not been a primary concern on Jakku, where everyone was sweat-soaked and sand-crusted and just trying to survive day by day. It hadn't been until Rey joined the Resistance that she'd had the luxury of being able to shower at any time, with no fear of wasting precious water. Still, the habit had never been fully ingrained, and often it was only whenever people started wrinkling their noses around her that she'd been reminded to scrub down.

With Tatooine being so much like Jakku, she'd regressed.

Ben narrows his eyes as the gradually strengthening bond transmits Rey's insecurity. "You think I care about  _that?"_ he demands— baffled, offended. "You believe my love for you is contingent on whether or not you've— you've  _showered?"_

A fresh wave of bittersweet tears threatens to leak down her cheeks. Her gaze drops to the floor. She feels so— so  _broken._ Like she's made up of floating, fragile pieces that are anchored only by sheer force of stubborn will.

Heaving a ragged sigh, Ben walks over to her, the mattress dipping under the additional weight as he sits beside her on the bed. Ever so slowly, ever so gently, he removes the ties fastening her buns in place, his large fingers combing out the tangles in her greasy locks. At first, Rey can do nothing but stare bleakly at the wall while he does this, wincing whenever he works on a particularly stubborn knot with unerring patience; it's only as his hands drift lower to press steady, soothing touches to the stiff muscles of her neck and her shoulders that she allows herself to close her eyes and relax against him.

Poe's static-tinged voice filters in over the intercom, issuing clipped instructions to brace for launch. Ben doesn't stop what he's doing, using the Force to keep Rey and himself grounded as the cabin rattles and groans. In the darkness behind her shut lids, Rey visualizes the  _Falcon_ soaring over the metallic urban sprawl of Coruscant, disappearing into the amber-tinted clouds of late afternoon, and then coming out the other side to be enveloped by the velvety black of space, with all its glittering stars.

Their quarters have stilled, the ship guided into a smooth sublight crawl by Poe's deft maneuvering, when Ben's equally deft fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to a sore spot between Rey's shoulder-blades. Unthinkingly, she moans in relief, and his energy signature stirs with an interest that is not  _entirely_ professional.

"My poor darling," Ben murmurs, all gravelly and low. "So fiendishly overworked."

"Says the man who toiled in a mining complex for four standard months," she counters even as she scrunches up her nose in reluctant pleasure at the endearment. "I should be the one—"

"I  _like_ doing this for you," he insists, in a tone that brooks no argument, and for once Rey's not in the mood to pursue the matter because his strong hands are turning her boneless in the best of ways, draining what feels like a year's worth of tension from her aching form.

It's not long before she's yawning. Ben lays her down on the bed, which is much too narrow for the two of them— a problem he solves by curling around her, tucking her back against his chest. She falls asleep like this, surrounded by him, warm and safe and cared for, his slow, even breathing in her ear almost like a lullaby.

☾✩☽

It is the deepest, most peaceful slumber that Ben has known in over two decades— with the exception of the months he'd spent among the dead in the Netherworld of the Force, although those long periods of nothing probably don't count. Even back then, there had been the faintest traces of a nameless, restless urge that had occasionally inspired a frantic search for sight, for sound, for  _something_ in the mists.

Now there is only a general aura of warmth and safety, draped over him like a blanket. And it all has to do with the woman in his arms, her presence a constant, reassuring glow in the Force that banishes all attempt at nightmare.

When he cracks open his eyes, a bleary glance at the chronometer indicates that there's still an hour to go before Rey has to take her shift. Ben would have been content to drift back to sleep, were it not for a certain...  _problem._

While his mind had been blissfully switched off, his body failed to receive the memo and has at some point reacted— in a very  _undeniable_ way— to the feminine form molded flush alongside it in a spoon-shaped curve. His nose is buried in the crook of Rey's neck, his arms crossed over her chest. And he is achingly hard against her backside.

Gritting his teeth, Ben attempts to shift away— to put as much distance between him and a still asleep Rey as the narrow bed will allow. However, the moment he loosens his embrace, she unconsciously, instinctively snuggles further into him, one hand reaching back to grab his hip and push it firmly against hers once more.

The soft, whimpering sound she makes is full of need. She  _wriggles,_ and it doesn't help his situation one bit.

His face is shaded pure scarlet now. He considers trying to move away again, but then she  _moans_ his name.  _"Ben."_ The single syllable rolls off of her tongue with such raw yearning. It echoes through the chambers of his soul.

He hunches forward, kissing the shell of her ear. "Rey. Sweetheart."

"Mmm?" She starts to turn to him, her eyes at half-mast, but his arms lock her in place, his heart beating at her spine as his lips glide over the bare skin of her neck. He slowly begins to rock against her and this, too, is instinct, as is the slide of his hands to cup her breasts— although he freezes once a little rationality comes filtering in and he realizes exactly  _what_ he's holding.

But Rey arches into his touch, flashing what is quite possibly the most beatific smile that Ben has ever seen. "We do this a lot, in my dreams," she rasps, "but this is the first time I've woken up to find that you're still holding me."

"It's not a dream," he whispers.  _I'm here, I'm here..._

She rolls her hips back into his in a way that makes him gasp. "Yes." There is a dazed sort of contentment in her teasing tone as she languidly rubs against the ever-growing bulge in his trousers. "You're  _definitely_ here."

He  _ has  _ to chuckle at that. And he  _ has  _ to pinch her in playful reprimand, but— considering where his hands are currently located—

He pinches her nipples through her snowy white tunic. He does this without even thinking about it. And it's the strangest thing, it's as if a wave of light is unleashed from her end of the bond, suffusing their mental link on the crests of a melody that is so intensely primal at the edges.

Ben can do nothing but bask in this light; he is a man possessed, the too-small bed creaking as he grinds himself against Rey, his shaking fingers exploring the slight swell of her breasts. He marvels at how they fill his hands, at how her nipples harden into taut little beads, at every sigh and moan that he is able to elicit from her lips.

"Don't stop," she mumbles. "Feels amazing..."

He wants her to feel even  _ more  _ amazing, and that's when he strikes upon a brilliant idea. He roves one hand down her body until it cups the warm apex of her thighs that's damp through the thin material of her leggings; she jolts in his arms at first, startled, but then she's parting her thighs a bit wider and relaxing under his ministrations as he traces and caresses, learning the contours of her through touch alone. The bond is humming now, all silvery and resonant, and he's panting open-mouthed into her neck as he chases the friction, as he attempts to give her the same pleasure that's sweeping through his veins like wildfire.

It is artless, completely devoid of grace. It is furtive and fumbling, a race to arrive at some hazy, inarticulable destination before she has to go back to her friends. But together they find a semblance of rhythm, together they make it work, and when his questing fingers brush against a certain spot at her very center that makes her suck in a shuddering breath, he hears,  _ Yes, there  _ in his head, in her voice, as clearly as if she'd said it out loud.

He focuses on rubbing at that spot while his other hand continues palming her breast. She is not passive in this, reaching back to tangle her fingers in his hair and moving against him in such a way that his erection slides between the globes of her perfect, glorious ass. Thank the stars for her skintight leggings. Thank the stars for  _ Rey.  _ Thank the stars for the second life that had led up to this moment, this wonder of wonders.

_ Be with me.  _ Rey sends this plea out into the Force, chanting it over and over again until the bond is vibrant with it, until it is all that Ben knows.  _ Be with me. Be with me. _

She is the first to fall off the edge, her body undulating against his like a sigh, like a ripple of ocean waves in the sunlight. She cranes her neck to press her lips to his in a sloppy, bruising kiss, and then he's coming, too— coming in his trousers, his mind blanking out in a burst of brilliant gold as he groans her name into her mouth.

It feels like releasing a breath he'd been holding in for years.

Rey rolls over so that she's facing him, wrapping him up in the circle of her slender arms. "Good?" she asks drowsily, smiling against his lips.

"Very good," Ben replies in kind, ears still ringing, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nuzzles at the tip of her nose with his. "The best, as a matter of fact."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone for the feedback and continued support and to [letstrysomefanfic](https://kylorenvevo.tumblr.com/post/612682402806071296/his-own-hand-rises-to-cradle-her-face-so-that) for the super soft and lovely artwork! ❤️

Finn and Poe are no longer in the cockpit when Rey walks in to assume control of the ship. A brief trawl through the currents of the Force indicates that they're in the galley, most likely rustling up a hot meal before heading to bed.

It's just as well. Rey hadn't been too keen on the prospect of facing them right after doing... what she and Ben had just done.

What  _was_ that, anyway? She'd been dreaming about him, her body reacting to his touch even while she was asleep. She'd woken up wet between her legs and from there it had been instinct, a simple state of being with him and doing what felt good.

She knows about sex, of course. It could hardly have been avoided, growing up on as crude a place as Jakku, where the cantina rang with ribald jokes throughout the night and people did what they had to do in order to survive— or simply to pass the time. Her old staff had defended her as much from unwanted advances as it had from bullies, looters, and vicious animals. She is definitely not naive about the various ways people get off with each other— she just hadn't realized that  _ that  _ was a thing as well.

It had been very nice. Particularly with a partner as big and as broad and as gentle as Ben.

Actually— there was a certain part of him that was  _ quite  _ big. Rey had felt it against her ass and it had taken her breath away.

But she has to stop thinking about it right this instant, because Rose is waving at her from the co-pilot seat of the  _ Falcon. _

Lustful musings aside, the smile that dawns on Rey's face is genuine. She walks over to Rose and sits beside her. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," Rose chirps. "You changed?"

Rose is only making small talk, but Rey fidgets, desperately willing herself not to blush. "Yeah, I'd been in those other clothes since Ben and I left Tatooine." Not to mention the fact that her white leggings had been soaked through at the crotch. She busies herself with running perfunctory scans on the freighter's hyperdrive and its navicomp, making sure that they're still going the right way and that they're going to get there in one piece. They're gliding through the Corellian Run now; a few more hours and they'll be able to make the junction into the Hydian Way.

"I doubt there's enough rations to keep everyone well-fed for the rest of the trip," she tells Rose. "We should stop at a trading post somewhere, before we hit the Ootmian Pabool."

"Sounds good," Rose agrees. "It'd give us an opportunity to stretch our legs, too. Stop us from getting too stir-crazy." She hesitates, and then carefully inquires, "How are you, Rey?"

"Can't complain."

The flippant tone is a defense mechanism; judging from the manner in which Rose's gaze turns searching, she sees right through it.

Rey sighs. "It's... I still can't believe that he's alive. That he's with me. Every time I look away from him, there's a part of me that's afraid he won't be there when I look back."

"Never mind Ben for a moment," Rose says. "We absolutely need to discuss him, but first I have to know where  _ you're  _ at. Mentally and emotionally. This past year can't have been easy on you. I'm only talking about this now because it's just the two of us and we won't be interrupted anytime soon— but I noticed during the handful of occasions you dropped by Galactic Alliance HQ that you always seemed... worn at the edges. And it got worse and worse with each subsequent visit."

There is a pointedness to Rose's words, like they're leading somewhere specific. Suspicious, Rey skims the surface of the other woman's mind— a light touch, drawn back before it can veer into invasive, but it's enough.

"You know something," Rey says flatly.

"I know what happened right before you exiled yourself to the Outer Rim Territories," Rose explains. "To be clear, we're not keeping tabs on you— Finn and Poe wanted to, but I talked them out of it. I haven't informed them about Atollon; it's your story to tell, should you eventually choose. But I was there several months ago, conducting a survey on what the townships deemed as necessities so we could prioritize those items in the supply chain, and I met a man from the village that was destroyed. He'd made it out and he traveled to the next settlement on foot. There were other survivors, too."

Rey should have been relieved to hear this, but it only makes her feel worse. The survivors would have had to walk for miles upon miles on parched terrain, with no homes to go back to. With the deaths of their loved ones hanging over them.

All because she had failed.

With her talent for compartmentalizing, Rey could convince herself on most days that she'd forgotten all about it. Exegol is not the only thing locked away in her mind; there is Atollon, too. In her dreams and her unguarded moments, she sees the silan, the monstrous shape of it, rising from the earth.

She wishes that Rose hadn't brought it up. Echoes of the beast's song croon to her from the depths of her memories, mingling with the villagers' cries of pain and terror.

"I can't— I don't want to talk about it," Rey says, voice taut with how much she longs to scream.

Rose observes her solemnly. "You haven't even told Ben yet, have you?"

Rey shakes her head.

It's Rose's turn to sigh. "I may not be the sort of person you can discuss this with, and my advice may not even be warranted, but— you  _ have  _ to talk this through with him, Rey. You need someone who can understand what you went through. Someone who can help you make peace with it." She looks sad now. "It's killing you."

☾✩☽

Rey had left Ben all blissed out in their quarters. He'd fallen back asleep immediately after the door to the adjoining 'fresher shut behind her and he hadn't so much as sensed her exit the room itself. When he wakes up again, he has thirty standard minutes to go before his shift, and things down south are decidedly uncomfortable.

_ Crusty,  _ to not put too fine a point on it.

Grimacing, Ben forces himself out of bed and into the 'fresher. Thank the stars that there's a built-in automated laundry facility inside. He hops into the sonic while waiting for his clothes and underwear to be cleaned and dried, yawning as sweat and grime evaporates off of his skin. He misses hot water.

Ben very nearly falls over when the bond blinks open and Rey's voice seeps into his head.  _ Oh.  _ She seems surprised, but pleasantly so.  _ We can still do this. Brilliant. _

_ I'm naked,  _ is all Ben can think to communicate in response, because he's an idiot.

Her end of their mental link stirs. With embarrassment. With something else.  _ Sorry. I can go? _

_ Don't,  _ he is quick to protest.  _ I'll be done in a second. I'm just cleaning up. _

_I see._

She's thinking about earlier, about the mess they'd made. He's as red as a beet as he stumbles out of the sonic, grabbing for his freshly laundered clothes.

_ Are you hungry?  _ she asks as he pulls on his underwear and his trousers.

Before he can mull the question over, his stomach growls.  _ I could eat,  _ he concedes.

_Good. Rose is cooking— which is why I was going to see if I could wake you. She says you ought to fill up before manning the controls for ten hours._

_ I think I shall let the ball do all the work,  _ Ben cheekily retorts as he throws on his shirt, followed by the jacket.

_ Be nice to BB-8,  _ Rey orders him firmly.

His smirk belies the warm glow of contentment in his soul. Being able to talk to her like this— without blades crossing or a war weighing over them— is wonderful. He is not unfamiliar with the sensation of someone taking up residence in his head, but Rey is vastly different from Snoke. She makes him feel at peace. There are no strings attached save for the thread of fate that binds them together.

Once he's decent, Ben exits the crew's quarters, heading for the cockpit. Tapping into the Force, that brilliant net that connects all living things, he is surrounded by the energy signatures of his shipmates as he makes his way through the winding corridors. Finn and Poe are asleep, back in the section that he had just left, while Rose is puttering around in the  _ Falcon' _ s galley. Rey is up ahead, her presence shining like a beacon amidst the starry ocean of space, guiding Ben home.

He's already smiling when he walks into the cockpit. Rey turns to him with a smile of her own and it makes his heart skip a beat; he wastes no time in going over to her and bending down to slant his mouth over hers, placing one hand on the dashboard and the other on the back of her chair.

"Hi," he murmurs against her lips. "Where are we?"

"Just made the turn into the Hydian," she replies, absentmindedly fixing the collar of his jacket. "If you're not all rested up yet, I should be good for a few more hours."

"I'm fine." He nuzzles cosily at her temple. "I can actually take over now, if  _ you  _ want to rest—"

"No, Ben," she protests, her fingers drifting up from his collar to curl his jaw, "you still have fifteen minutes—"

"That's precisely why it won't make much of a difference if you take your break early—"

"I hate to interrupt," drawls a wry voice, "but food's here."

Rose Tico is standing at the entrance of the cockpit, carrying a tray laden with bowls of something that smells so heavenly that Ben's mouth immediately starts to water despite the self-consciousness that comes with being interrupted in the middle of trying to get the love of his life to make out with him.

He straightens up, nodding at Rose in greeting. The only reason he doesn't take the heavy-looking tray from her is that she— well, she doesn't  _ scare  _ him, exactly, but he's unsure if such a gesture will cause offense or not.

And, in any case, Rose is already walking over to him and Rey. "I made stew."

_ "How?"  _ Rey asks in disbelief even as she eagerly makes a grab for one of the bowls.

"There were a couple of bags of protein cubes and a tube of pastebread in the cupboard, along with some synthgreens and a can of dehydrated Pukkha broth that was only twenty years old." Rose passes the tray to Ben and settles back into the co-pilot seat after taking a bowl of her own. "But those were the last of the usable ingredients. Until we stop at a trading post, it's rations from here on out."

"I will savor every drop of this stew," Rey promises fiercely.

Ben eats standing up, the tray where his bowl is placed held steady in the air by the Force. After subsisting on dry, flavorless rations ever since that disastrous dinner at the cantina on Kemal Station, surely he can be forgiven for the way his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at the first spoonful.

"This is very good," he blurts out.

"Thank you," Rose says primly.

"It's  _ amazing,"  _ Rey gushes, her mouth full. She seems happy and relieved that he's just had a polite conversational exchange with one of her friends.

"Rey, you think deep-fried gorgs are amazing," Rose points out. "But I'm glad you like it."

Ben doesn't want to push his luck with this tiny woman who had risen to the rank of commander in the Resistance and had also, he'd heard, nearly chewed off Armitage Hux's hand, so he doesn't say another word as they eat. His attention is, as always, drawn to Rey; she's digging into her bowl with enthusiasm and, kriff, she truly has no semblance of table manners whatsoever. He finds it endearing— and heart-wrenching, because he knows her history. He knows why she tackles every meal as if it were her last.

_ I'd give you endless feasts, if I could,  _ he thinks as he watches her, careful to seal his thoughts from the bond.  _ You'd eat like a queen at every meal. You'd never want for anything again. _

_If only I had more time..._

The sensation of being scrutinized prickles the back of his neck. Rose is eying him, a contemplative frown on her face. She doesn't so much as pretend to look elsewhere when he catches her in the act— instead, she returns his stare with a level one of her own.

All right, maybe he's a  _ little  _ scared of her, after all.

When all three bowls are empty, Rose stands up. "Ben, would you mind carrying the tray back to the galley for me?"

He's glad to oblige— it's the least he can do— but he regrets it as soon as she starts walking with him. He doesn't send a panicked  _ Save me  _ to Rey via their bond, but it's a damn near thing.

_ It'll be fine.  _ Rey's tone is reassuring, but her next words are not.  _ Rose doesn't bite. _

_ Yes, she does,  _ Ben retorts.

Rey's spark of mirth dances through the bond like a beam of sunlight. It's a miracle he doesn't trip over his own feet when he feels it. She lovingly shoos him away and he follows Rose out of the cockpit.

☾✩☽

The galley of the  _ Millennium Falcon  _ is really just a kitchenette squeezed in between the storage lockers and the crew's quarters. Han had installed it as a wedding gift to Leia, although Ben doubts his mother had made much use of it. More likely that Han and Chewie had taken turns cooking to provide Leia with hot meals during long-haul voyages.

Ben has... he's not sure if it's a memory, as he would have been to young to remember much of anything, but there's a scene in his head. His mother is standing in the middle of the galley, hands on her hips and a decidedly unimpressed look on her face. His father is wrestling with a pan on the stove; smoke oozes from it and Leia's declaring that Han's going to burn down the ship while he yells at her over the sizzle of oil that everything's fine, this is an old Corellian recipe, it's  _ supposed  _ to smell like that—

It nearly makes Ben smile. Perhaps it  _ is  _ a memory, but not his. The  _ Falcon  _ had been a home; perhaps all that love had been written into the very walls.

"I'll take care of washing the dishes," Rose says as Ben puts the tray in the sink. "It's almost time for your shift. BB-8's currently powered down but he'll meet you at the cockpit on the dot."

"Good. I look forward to our ten-hour stint together," Ben deadpans. "It can't start soon enough."

Rose is unfazed. "Leia and Rey  _ did  _ say you had a mouth on you."

Ben steps away from the sink, his hands falling back to his sides. He can't help but wonder what else his mother might have said about him, and either Rose Tico has Force powers of her own or his expression gives him away, because she adds, "Leia also said that she believed you would come back to the light. She lost faith for a while, but Luke told her that no one was ever really gone. The general clung to that until her last breath."

Ben peers down at Rose. "Do you think she was wrong?" he asks quietly.

It takes her a long time to respond, during which he braces himself. If she confirms it, he has no idea where to go from there. He feels no pressing need to prove his intentions to anyone other than to Rey, but this task is so much bigger than just the two of them.

_ Hays Minor,  _ he suddenly remembers Rey telling him somewhere amidst the muddle of soft-spoken conversations and calm silences that had filled up the long journey to Coruscant. Rose is from Hays Minor, in the Otomok system.

The First Order had used that world for weapon testing, leaving vast stretches of it scorched and ruined. They'd stolen the children and made them stormtrooopers. And Rose's sister had died during the war.

She has good reason to hate Ben and what his coming back must represent to her. To anyone who had lost something— or  _ everything—  _ because of Snoke and Palpatine's machinations and Kylo Ren's role in them.

"No," Rose says at last. "I don't think Leia was wrong. But I  _ may  _ have put three pinches of seasoning in your food instead of four."

That startles a half-smile out of him. "It was still more than palatable."

Although some kind of tentative truce has been reached, Rose has more to say— as Ben soon finds out when she heads to the crew's quarters but stops at the threshold of the galley and casts an indecipherable look at him over her shoulder.

"When you— were gone," she tells Ben haltingly, "I'd never seen Rey so... so  _ diminished,  _ I guess would be the correct term. She hid it well, but it was obvious to me. The thing about Rey is that she thinks she has to be strong all the time, and that leads to her burying her emotions instead of processing them. But make no mistake—" Rose's tone is abruptly fiercely protective— "she's still one of the best people I know. So just— just be careful with her, all right?"

Ben nods. Rose turns away and vanishes into the corridor, out of sight. Leaving him alone in the galley that had been a wedding gift, that now serves as a reminder that his parents had loved each other. That they had tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hydian Way](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hydian_Way/Legends).
> 
> [Atollon](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Atollon).
> 
> [Silan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Silan).
> 
> [Sonic](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sonic_shower/Legends).
> 
> [Protein cube](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Protein_cube).
> 
> [Pastebread](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Pastebread).
> 
> [Pukkha broth](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Pukkha_broth).
> 
> [Deep-fried gorg](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Deep-fried_gorg).
> 
> The line about Rose nearly chewing off Hux's hand is inspired by a deleted scene from _The Last Jedi_ where she bit him xD


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I apologize for the long, long wait. With everything going on in my country and around the world, it was emotionally harrowing for me to write angst while I was quarantined and with mine and my loved ones' futures so uncertain. I therefore made the decision to concentrate on more lighthearted stories until I was in a better headspace. I hope you guys understand. Thank you so much for your patience and for all the nice comments that have definitely helped me not give up on getting to the happily ever after that we all deserve. I'll do my best to ensure weekly updates from now on. ❤️

BB-8 isn't a  _terrible_ co-pilot, all things considered. Ever since Ben had uttered Leia's code in Poe's office, the droid had warmed up to him as much as an artificial intelligence could warm up to anyone. There's not much in the way of conversation, but he's being helpful and cooperative, dispensing a grand total of zero electric shocks.

Ben suspects that it has something to do with the notoriously adaptive loyalty subprograms that experienced BB units were capable of generating. He remembers the holo-ads from his childhood making a fuss about that— about how, with the proper care and upkeep, this model of astromech droid would be the closest thing to a pet mooka that you could get without having to worry about feeding schedules and childproofing the exhaust port.

_"Let's get ourselves one, what do you think, kid?"_ Han Solo had quipped to a six-year-old Ben when one of those holo-ads lit up the air as they strolled around Old Hannatown Market with C-3PO.  _"Trade in old goldenrod over here."_

Threepio had sputtered, looking as offended as it was possible for a droid to look. Ben had laughed, forgetting the previous night's bad dreams for a few blessed moments.

Now, he doubts that he'll ever be able to smile at this memory again— or at most of the good memories from his childhood, for that matter.

He checks the bond to see if Rey's awake. He think that she might be, but the strength of their mental link has waned once more. It flickers like the flame of a candle holding on to dear life in the face of a spirited breeze. So, instead, he presses a button on the communications panel that patches him through to the intercom in their quarters.

"Rey?"

_**"Hmm?"** _

Her voice sounds a little drowsy, a little far-off. He imagines her lying in bed, then immediately tries not to think too much about that. He's only four hours into his shift.

"Did I wake you?"

_**"No. I'm drifting in and out."** _ She yawns.  _**"What's up?"** _

"I was just wondering where Threepio is. And Artoo, for that matter."

_**"Rose mentioned that they accompanied Kaydel— Lieutenant Connix— on her diplomatic mission to the Sepan system. Old tensions between the Ripoblus and the Dimok are flaring up and there are whispers of civil war brewing. Kaydel went to investigate."** _

Ben quirks an eyebrow at the starlines shimmering beyond the viewport. "That's a tricky situation. The Galactic Alliance really put those two rust buckets in the middle of it?"

Rey snorts.  _**"I don't know what High Command was thinking, either."** _ She pauses. And then—  _**"He asked about you. Threepio, I mean."** _

"He did?"

_**"Yeah. If I'd seen you again, if I'd gotten to talk to you at all. I... I** _ **may** _**have told him to switch off."** _

Ben has to suppress a grin at the mental image of such an interaction between his mother's stuffy protocol droid and his feral, angry girl. Before he can say anything, though, Rey continues,  _**"Poe was the one who briefed the Resistance on what I told him happened in the lair of the Sith Eternal. That's the reason I was able to get your name on the monument. But..."** _

She trails off.

"I know," Ben says softly into the static-tinged silence. "It's easier to forgive a dead man."

There's no response from her end. Just as he starts to think that she's fallen asleep, he feels her energy signature moving towards him, closer and closer with each second that passes. She's left their quarters. She is traversing the ship at a brisk pace. She—

— bursts into the cockpit, and _hurls_ herself into his lap. Into his arms.

BB-8 chirps a greeting, only for Rey to narrow her eyes at him. "Are you spying for Poe?"

His spherical head rolls wildly from one side to the other.

"Still. I can't take your word for it." Rey's grip on Ben's shoulders tightens. "Could you give us a moment, please?"

The droid emits a dejected little beep and trundles off, the cockpit doors sliding shut behind him.

"You think Dameron is keeping tabs on you?" Ben asks once he and Rey are alone.

"I think that you and I are under at least a  _ bit  _ of suspicion right now, and Poe is the leader of the free galaxy before he is my friend. He's had to be." Rey snuggles into Ben's chest. "I don't begrudge him that, but I also don't want BB-8 staring at us while we make out."

Ben perks up. "We're going to make out?"

"In a bit," she replies primly. "Just hold me first."

He is more than happy to oblige, trapping her slim body within the circle of his arms and nuzzling at her hair. She smells fresh and clean from a recent foray into the sonic and the silvery glow of hyperspace veils her skin like moonlight as she curls up on his lap and listens to his heartbeat.

He is content with this. Even if she ends up not wanting to do anything else, this is enough.

But, well, she  _ had  _ mentioned making out...

Their earlier conversation is still on Rey's mind, though. "I don't think Threepio bears you any ill will," she mumbles into his collarbone. "He still calls you  _ young Master Ben.  _ I went into his programming to make sure that there was no lasting damage from a certain procedure that had been done to him during the war— you're in his memory bank, but his code hasn't rewritten you as hostile. Nor is there any indication that it ever did."

"I'm not surprised that C-3PO would have outdated self-preservation protocols," Ben says wryly. "He's older than sin."

Rey is quiet for a while, examining his end of their mental link. He lets her.

"Your grandfather made him." Her tone is hushed, somewhat mystified.

"Yes." Ben drops a kiss on top of her head. "Obi-Wan told Luke a long time ago. Luke told me back when I was on the Deep."

"Ah, during one of your emotional, heart-to-heart conversations?" Rey teases. "While you cried in each other's arms?"

"Certainly a few weeks after I tried to clobber him with a shovel."

He feels her lips curve into a smile against his chest, right before she skims them along the line of his jaw. A shiver of delight runs through him and he holds her even more closely.

"I think it means something that Anakin Skywalker made a droid who remembers the good," Rey murmurs. "It's almost like a message, isn't it? From him to you. From the past."

"I think you're giving him too much credit," Ben muses. "He was only nine when he made Threepio."

"He had the Force," Rey counters serenely. "And if the Force has taught me anything, it's that time is fluid. The years echo through us."

He rubs her back gently. "You're so smart,  _ cyar'ika." _

"Stop it." She's blushing like she always does when he calls her endearments, pressing her heated face into the side of his neck.

"You are," he insists. "You're smart and beautiful and kind. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish we'd had more time together. I wish—" He cuts off abruptly, a belated sense of panic causing him to throw a shield over his own thoughts so as to obscure the rest of his sentence from her perception.

_I wish we had more time now._

Rey peers up at him, her brow wrinkled and her lips slightly parted in confusion. She may not know what he's thinking, exactly, but his sudden recalcitrance has surely unsettled her. The inside of his chest is as heavy as if there's a stone lodged within it. He tucks a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, the regret washing over him in waves.

"Ben?" she finally ventures when the silence has stretched on for far too long.

He responds with a kiss, his palm curving against the small of her back as he slants his mouth over hers. He kisses her because he would rather drown in her than in memories of the past or in worries about the future. He kisses her because she is the only one who can take away his grief.

☾✩☽

Rey doesn't think that she'll ever get used to the sensation of having Ben's tongue in her mouth.

Although— she isn't complaining. Not by a long shot. She loves the pleasantly shocked and deliciously wicked thrill that courses through her every single time.

It's just that his lips are so soft and he is so  _ big.  _ It's the earnest way his hands map out her every plane and hollow, always careful to match the pace with which she maps his. He makes her feel like she's safe and like she's burning up all at once, and she's never had that before.

Not that she has anything in the way of a comparison that can be made. He was her first kiss and he will be her last. Her only.

Rey stops wondering what Ben had been about to say and what had held him back from saying it. They can discuss it later— it's not like they're going anywhere anytime soon, with a few more days' travel between them and Nar Shaddaa's orbit. For now, there is only the heat building in her abdomen and the dissolution of every ounce of coherent thought as she and the one great love of her life explore each other with their hands and find all the angles at which their mouths can fit together. And there is also the bond, humming through the currents of the Force in threads of gold...

Rey just lets herself  _ feel. _

When she and Ben come up for air, his dark hair is hopelessly mussed from her fingers running through it and he's somehow managed to get her out of her vest. She's leaning against his arm— which is the only thing preventing her from falling out of the pilot seat— and she's straddling one of his thickly muscled thighs, his hand on her left breast as he takes ragged breaths against her neck. The  _ Falcon' _ s dashboard beeps and clicks quietly at her back.

Ever so slowly, ever so gently, Ben thumbs at her nipple through the thin fabric of her sleeveless shirt. Rey  _ gasps,  _ her fingernails digging into his bicep. She'd found out a long time ago that her breasts are very sensitive, that touching them when she masturbates is a surefire path to orgasm— but, just as it had in their quarters several hours ago, it throws her for an utter loop how  _ amazing  _ it feels when Ben's the one doing the touching.

Especially when he's staring at her chest with something like awe, his completely entranced gaze focused on the burgeoning outline of her nipple as it hardens into a taut bead under his ministrations.

"Rey," he grates out, then pauses, licking his kiss-stung lips nervously. "Can...  _ may  _ I see them?" He swallows. "Please."

And, the thing is, Rey isn't  _ totally  _ ignorant in the ways of seduction. She's learned a little from overhearing other women talk. The key, apparently, is to tease. To move slowly, to let your partner's imagination fill in the blanks. To let the waiting be an experience in itself, adding to the sensuality of the moment.

But that paltry tidbit of knowledge flies right out the window, because Ben looks so tentative and yet so boyishly hopeful. When he's gazing at her like that, she can't bear to do anything else but telekinetically lock the cockpit doors and then hurriedly grab the ends of her shirt with shaking hands and pull it over her head. And let it fall to the floor.

Ben doesn't exactly  _ shut down,  _ but his eyes go as wide as saucers while the rest of his face freezes, slack-jawed. He looks like she's just punched him in the gut as he stares at her bare breasts and,  _ stars,  _ it goes right to her head. It brings with it its own rush of giddiness, to know that she has the power to render him incapable of speech.

The whine of the ancient hyperdrive filling the cockpit is soon punctuated by another one of Rey's shuddering gasps as Ben leans down to kiss her breasts. The right one first and then the other, his lips unfailingly gentle on her skin— but she's never had  _ anyone's  _ mouth there before, so each touch is like a static touch. It's almost too much.

And when he seals his lips over one nipple and his fingers caress the other as he begins to  _ suck...  _ forget it. She's  _ gone,  _ brain turned to mush, her spine arching, her hips squirming in a mindless, desperate bid to alleviate the pressure between her legs on his broad, hard thigh.

Ben spends  _ ages  _ on her like this, switching from one breast to the other and back again. He lets up when she starts to get overstimulated, pulling his mouth off of her nipple with a wet  _ pop  _ and then dotting soft kisses around the pebbled peak.

"Gorgeous," he mumbles against her skin, his voice deep and raspy and broken. "Even more gorgeous than I imagined."

"Think about my tits a lot, do you?" Rey breathlessly quips, because she doesn't know what to do when confronted with all of this burning adoration except try and deflect it with humor. It's a defense mechanism, of sorts.

But Ben won't let her hide from this. He lifts his head to study her face, his expression solemn. "Yes," he says simply. "In the year before Exegol, in the months on the Deep, and ever since I saw you again in Mos Eisley— I have spent so much time thinking about your..." The faintest hint of a lopsided, mischievous smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth. "Your  _ tits,  _ as you call them."

Rey's cheeks blaze scarlet.  _ Again.  _ In hindsight, she supposes that she'd brought this upon herself. But, before she can so much as reply, Ben's big hand squeezes her hip like he's suddenly afraid she'll clamber out of his lap any second now and he's trying to keep her with him. She realizes that  _ his  _ cheeks have drained of all color. He looks  _ alarmed. _

"Was that too forward?" he blurts out in a tone that is close to panicked. "I apologize. I don't know what came over me— well, that's not entirely accurate," he hastily corrects, " _ you  _ came over me, everything about you, but I still shouldn't have said that—"

Shaking her head, she pulls him close and banishes the rest of his apology with a kiss. This time, she's the one who slips her tongue into his mouth first, her lips moving against his with fierce affection. This time, when they break apart, she's the one who guides his hand back to her right breast. The one who gently but insistently pushes down on his shoulder so that his hot mouth can work its magic once more.

The next few minutes pass in a haze of yearning. The pilot seat wobbles as she grinds down on his thigh while he licks and sucks and nibbles at her breasts, his velvety tongue swirling and lapping, his teeth digging in just right. She buries her nose in his soft hair, whimpering incoherent encouragement, doing her best to to transmit through their faded bond how good he's making her feel. And finally she is so close, she just needs a little more...

Ben's hand tightens at the jut of her hip, guiding her as she rubs against him, helping her chase the friction. "You— have—" He punctuates each word with a sloppy kiss to her breasts— "the most—  _ perfect—  _ tits—" He takes one hypersensitized nipple into his mouth again, sucking  _ hard,  _ releasing it only when she cries out from the sharp, nigh unbearable pleasure— "I knew you would," he continues in a voice that bridles with dark heat, the words somewhat muffled as he alternates between licking and biting, all the while playing with her other breast with his large, nimble fingers— "knew it would be like they were made for my hands and my mouth— look at how  _ flushed  _ they are, look at those freckles— look at how they bounce while you're riding my thigh—"

"Ben," Rey chokes out, for no reason other than the fact that it feels good to say his name.  _ Maker,  _ she's nearly there. She's found the right angle to bear down on, her clit throbbing and swollen, the drenched gusset of her underwear caught between her slick, wet labia, his thigh so wide and solid and warm between her legs. The world is starting to splinter apart at the edges, beads of sweat dotting her brow. "Ben, I'm going to..."

"Yes, darling, come for me." He sounds as feverish as she feels, his hand on her hip steering her into a frantic rhythm, his lips covering her chest in rough, open-mouthed kisses. "Come sweet, come slow,  _ pateesa.  _ Come on my thigh, you  _ beautiful  _ girl—"

Rey breaks with a hoarse shout, the tension in her core dissolving into a fiery wave that carries her through, carries her over, the bond singing and the space behind her eyelids flashing white-hot with bursts of pleasure.

She collapses against Ben's chest, limp and sated, kissing his neck as he runs his hands along her back, soothing her through her aftershocks. In her raw, vulnerable state, tears spring to the corners of her eyes from how gentle he is with her. If only she'd known that it could be like this. If only she'd trusted her heart a little more...

But that's in the past. She's been given a second chance. Things can be good between them now. Things can be good  _ forever. _

She doesn't know how long she remains slumped in his arms, waiting for her breathing to even out. But, eventually, she becomes aware of the bulge in his trousers, the hard length poking against her bare abdomen, and she looks up at him. Her eager hand wanders lower. "I think it's your turn now."

Ben flashes her a crooked grin that melts her heart. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rey confirms, the tips of her fingers grazing the outline of his erection.

And that's when an almighty lurch plows through the ship, and the sensors on the dashboard start to  _ scream. _

☾✩☽

"Walk me through it again," a grumpy, just-woken-up Finn orders, his hands on his hips as a stone-faced Ben steers the  _ Millennium Falcon  _ to the nearest spaceport. "What exactly happened?"

"So, the hyperdrive motivator is  _ really  _ old," Rey says earnestly. She'd managed to put her shirt and vest back on before the others barged into the cockpit, summoned by the alarms. "It overheated and Ben only narrowly managed to bring us back into realspace before we blew up. Anyway, we might actually need to replace the parts— long overdue, in my professional opinion."

"I don't understand." Rose gestures at the dashboard. "There's a gauge there that monitors the temperature within the superconducting shield. It should have been easy to notice that the hyperdrive motivator was getting too hot and give it a break by hopping out of lightspeed. That way, we wouldn't have almost become space dust."

"I did not notice," Ben says tersely, his gaze fixed on the starry wastes. "I apologize."

"Beebee!" Poe darts an astonished, reprimanding glare at his droid. "As co-pilot, it was your job to pay attention to these things. It's not like you to slack off."

An affronted BB-8 starts to chirp a response, but Rey swiftly steps in front of him. "His circuitry's probably on the blink again," she tells Poe. "You know what, why don't I just go and check— come along, BB-8—"

She rolls the protesting droid out of the cockpit with her foot.

"Well." Finn clears his throat in the awkward silence that follows. "It would be nice to stretch our legs, anyway."

"As well as go shopping for rations," Poe adds as he and Finn head to the lounge. "And we can even go to a restaurant— they make the best spiced mynock wings here in the Arrowhead—"

"It seems to me that some people have already eaten," Rose mutters under her breath, loud enough for only Ben to hear.

It takes every single ounce of willpower that he possesses to not spontaneously combust on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Holo-ad](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Holo-ad).
> 
> [Mooka](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mooka/Legends).
> 
> [The Sepan system](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sepan_system).
> 
> [Ripoblus](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ripoblus).
> 
> [Dimok](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dimok).
> 
> [Hyperdrive motivator](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hyperdrive_motivator/Legends).
> 
> [The Arrowhead](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Arrowhead).
> 
> [Spiced mynock wing](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Spiced_Mynock_Wing).


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this fic is cursed— literally the moment I take it out of mental health hiatus, another personal crisis grabs me by the throat 🙃 But here is the next chapter, finally! Than you so much to [Starlight_Suns](https://twitter.com/starlight_suns/status/1282701031122644992?s=21) for the lovely moodboard and [Pinguinolog](https://twitter.com/pinguinolog/status/1280901001453678594?s=21) for the gorgeous art!

Ben Solo's balls are bluer than Bantha milk. He's surprised that a condition he'd once chalked up to the crude masculine tendency to exaggerate for the sake of shock value actually really  _does_ hurt— he's all heavy and aching down there. Every time he blinks, he sees Rey's lovely tits bouncing in the darkness behind his closed eyes, as well as the way her freckled features had scrunched up in orgasm. Every time he lets his thoughts stray, his mouth waters at the memory of sucking on her dusky pink nipples until she'd cried out.

It's not an ideal situation to be in when one is strolling through the Holy City of Jaciprus with three people who are no doubt itching for the slightest excuse to draw a blaster on him.  _Especially_ when those three people are very protective of their friend who just so happens to be the object of his lust. And Rey certainly doesn't help matters whenever she walks ahead of him and he is powerless to stop his gaze from falling on her tight little derrière in those form-fitting leggings.

The Holy City is an enormous temple complex spanning dozens of kilometers that's located in the heart of a verdant rainforest. They'd made planetfall in the middle of the day and the cobblestone streets are bustling with life. Against a backdrop of incense smoke wafting from well-kept shrines, vendors tout all manner of goods imaginable and street performers sing and dance and put on plays. The humid tropical air thrums with music, hawkers' cries, and the ceaseless chanting of devotees— the Jacipri have many gods, and there's never a moment when prayers aren't reverberating through their largest settlement's ancient stone walls.

The  _Falcon_ had been left at the vast collection of docks bordering the city limits that had earned Jaciprus its reputation as one of the premier spaceports in the Arrowhead. The on-site mechanics had estimated that it would take a little over two standard hours to outfit the ship with a new hyperdrive motivator, and so Ben, Rey, Finn, Poe, and Rose had collectively decided to grab lunch while BB-8 stayed behind to monitor the installation.

Or, well— Rey, Finn, Poe, and Rose had decided. Ben's just tagging along and trying not to call too much attention to himself from any of Rey's friends.

It's so  _uncomfortable._ Finn and Poe are carrying on strained small talk, pretending that everything's normal. Rose is sulking because she obviously knows— or at the very least  _suspects—_ what Ben and Rey had been doing that had made them fail to notice that the hyperdrive motivator was getting overheated. Commander Tico doesn't seem like she'd be one to suffer horny fools who end up costing the mission team valuable time thanks to their... horny foolishness.

The only bright spot in this whole ordeal is Rey.

Rey, who nearly trips over her own feet gazing up at the mighty sio trees that tower over the city walls with a wonder that even the general air of low-spirited weariness surrounding her like a cloak is hard-pressed to diminish. Rey, who has no qualms haggling with an equally stubborn merchant over some truly noxious sardine fritters before Ben steps in and buys a small tub for her over her protests. Rey, who, every time she darts ahead to peruse certain stalls and performances that catch her eye, eventually always remembers to wait up until he's beside her again.

Rey, who at first touches his elbow lightly whenever she wants him to look at something, but soon enough gives up all pretense and takes to wrapping both arms around one of his as she tugs him down the busy, colorful streets.

To their credit, her friends manage to adapt passable poker faces after they notice.

They find a decent-looking restaurant tucked away into a relatively quiet corner off of the main avenue. Like all the other commercial establishments in the Holy City, it's built into one of the temples and boasts its own altar so that the proprietor's favored deity might watch over their enterprise. The group sits down and places their orders with a young Jacipri waitress, whose golden fur is covered in black spots like a ranphyx's hide and whose opalescent feline eyes glow in the light of the dozens of candles that bedeck the shrine.

Just like their stroll through the city, the meal is fantastically awkward, although Ben can't hold back a faint grin when, seated beside him, Rey surreptitiously takes out what's left of her sardine fritters and dips them in the spicy glockaw sauce that had come with her nerf ribs.

"What?" she huffs, mouth full, when she catches him side-eying her.

"I was just thinking that you definitely need the spicy sauce to disguise the taste," Ben teases.

"Sardine fritters are delicious," Rey insists.

"No, they're not," Finn and Poe chorus.

Rey looks at Rose, but the other woman shakes her head dolefully. "Can't help you there, Rey. Sardine fritters taste like rotting cardboard that's been plucked from an oil spill on open sea."

"First of all, that's  _texture,"_ Rey says, "and, secondly, I can't think of a single thing that's not improved by more salt—"

"Rey," Finn scoffs, "salt is, like, the clodhopper of seasonings— boring, lacking finesse, and  _everywhere."_

And, from there, Ben can only eat his food in silence as he listens to his dining companions argue. About  _condiments._ The discussion is animated— at times even downright  _passionate—_ but it remains good-natured all throughout. It's not something he's used to; he hasn't been a spectator to this kind of friendly bickering since his days as Luke Skywalker's apprentice, when he'd been around—

— _them._

Thinking about the three apprentices who'd been closest to his age and who had been all that was left of Luke's Jedi Order after the temple was razed summons an old pain, one that Ben hadn't expected to confront in this place of stone and candlelight while Rey is beside him, espousing the merits of salt. He finishes off his shaak pot roast and belatedly realizes that he should have eaten more slowly— because now there is nothing to distract him from his memories of Tai, Hennix, and Voe, and of how they had died.

Two by his hand. And all three because of him.

Finn, Poe, and Rey are laughing; Rose has made some wry comment that Ben hadn't been able to catch. He feels like a stranger looking in from the outside— no, he  _is_ one. He doesn't have any right to be here.

Rey's knee bumps into his under the table. At first, Ben thinks that it's an accident but, when he glances over at her, she's flashing some of her smile at him, making eye contact. It's a wordless invitation to participate in the moment, and his lips quirk as if of their own volition in response.

Maybe there isn't a place for him, but she  _wants_ there to be, and that's enough for now.

When the waitress returns to clear away their plates, she asks if they'd like anything to drink. Poe glances at the chronometer on his wrist. "We've got an hour to kill," he muses. "And I could use a beer or two."

"We don't serve beer, just hard liquor," the waitress pipes up. "I recommend the  _tihaar—_ fruity, triple distilled, potent enough to degrease engine parts. We had a shipment come in from New Mandalore just this morning."

"I thought that the clans had all been wiped out," Ben says, effectively ruining his plan to spend this brief planetside sojourn not calling attention to himself. There are accounts of various individual Mandalorians showing up at certain points in galactic history since the Great Purge, but nothing that the First Order's intelligence network had dug up had suggested that the creed was in resurgence.

"We'll take two bottles," Rose says to the waitress, who nods and walks away. Rose then turns to Ben. "There was a remnant that settled on an isolated planet in the Outer Rim," she explains. "They took in orphans and whoever else wanted to join them, and they taught them the old ways. They were careful this time, and very secretive, knowing that y—" She catches herself, casting an almost apologetic glance at Rey— "that the First Order would stop at nothing to destroy a new generation of warriors."

It's not lost on Ben, the significance of Rose divulging such sensitive information to him and Finn and Poe not doing anything to shush her. It means that they're giving trusting him a shot.

"The Mandalorians made first contact with the Galactic Alliance several months ago," Finn adds. "They're not coming into the fold just yet, but we have an amicable trade relationship."

"Which is why," Poe says as the waitress returns with a tray bearing the two liquor bottles and five shot glasses, "you're going to drink this with us." He eyes Ben with an air of challenge. "Y'know— to help the economy."

"You don't have to," Rey is quick to assure Ben as she darts Poe a warning glare.

But Ben is—

"— your father's son," he swears he can hear Leia snort, and when he looks around she's standing by the altar, idly fiddling with the floral offerings on display. To anyone else, it would look like the leaves and petals are being rustled by a light breeze.

It almost makes Ben smile, knowing that his mother is watching over him and those whom she had come to love.

"You're on," he tells Poe. He does the honors of twisting the cap off of the first bottle and pouring a generous measure into everyone's glasses. The  _tihaar_ is as clear as water and it smells strong enough to peel paint off of the walls.

This is  _not_ a good idea.

"You think?" Leia asks wryly, and Ben raises his shot glass to her in a silent toast before knocking the whole thing back, the Mandalorians' gift to the universe burning its way down his throat.

☾✩☽

Time passes.

Rey's pretty sure that the  _Falcon_ must be ready by now, but she doesn't quite have the heart to tell her friends that it's time to go. She can't even remember when she'd last seen Finn, Poe, and Rose enjoying themselves, and it's  _nice._ The alcohol smooths away the worry lines on their faces and lifts the weight of the galaxy from their shoulders. In addition, every second that they spend drunk is another second that they're not questioning Ben's motives— and his presence, in general.

Speaking of Ben,  _he_ is drunk, too. And...  _handsy._

Not that Rey's complaining.

It had started with him leaning just a little bit closer into her personal space after the third shot of  _tihaar._ After the fifth shot, he'd draped one muscular arm over the back of her chair while he quietly listened to her and her friends talk. He'd then begun idly playing with a stray lock of hair that had been dislodged from her buns and that had been some kind of wonderful, but then he'd lowered his arm back to his side when they moved on to the second bottle and she'd almost  _cried—_

But then his hand— that big, big hand— had come to rest on her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze, and everything had turned all right again.

Now, countless shots later, they're halfway through the second bottle of  _tihaar._ Rey's pleasantly warm all over and a bit floaty in the head, and Ben's hand has moved from her knee to the inside of her thigh. Finn and Poe are taking turns holding court with funny stories and increasingly outlandish toasts. Rose is constantly shaking her head, telling them they're dummies in slurred tones.

Rey glances over at Ben; his cheeks are flushed and the line of his mouth is soft. She wants to crawl into his lap and cover him in kisses— and, okay, maybe she's a  _little_ drunk as well. There can't be any lap-sitting while they're in public, so she decides that it's her turn to drape an arm over the back of  _his_ chair, snuggling closer to him.

Finn and Poe notice, but, like every time they've noticed her and Ben touching in this restaurant thus far, they don't say a word and elect to toss back their shots a little more eagerly instead.

Rose just shakes her head again.

Once there's nothing left to drink, they call the waitress over for the check. "I've got it," Ben mumbles, fishing his credit chip out of his pocket and pressing it into the waitress' clawed hand.

Finn and Poe  _cheer._

Rey hadn't been expecting that, and she has to bite back a smile as she gets to her feet.

"Yer not so bad, S'lo." Poe claps Ben on the shoulder as he and Finn pass by, with Rose ushering them out of the restaurant. Finn loops one arm around Poe and the other around Rose and starts belting out a rowdy tune as soon as they hit the streets. It's not long before Poe joins in, while Rose tries in vain to squirm away.

Ben and Rey are bringing up the rear. Through the muddled haze of alcohol, she's still thinking about his hand on her thigh, although their fingers are intertwined now, swinging jauntily between their bodies as they make their way through the crowd. They're doing a marginally better job at walking than the others— or maybe not, Rey concedes as her feet do a  _thing_ wherein they get all tangled up, and suddenly she is falling—

Rey is stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of strong arms catching her around the waist. "Whoops," a deep, gentle voice tinged with humor says in her ear. She looks up and there's Ben, the afternoon sunlight that floods the Holy City in waves of gold bringing into sharp relief the boyish, crooked grin spread across his handsome features, warmed at the edges by his inebriated state.

"My savior," she breathes, grinning right back, feeling totally reckless and carefree.

Ben glances around. Finn, Poe, and Rose are still stumbling on ahead, the two men alternating between singing at the top of their lungs and coaxing the third member of their triumvirate to join in, completely oblivious to what's happening behind them. Rey catches a spark of mischief in Ben's dark eyes that makes her stomach flip with a shy, tremulous excitement long before he ushers her into the nearest secluded alleyway.

His lips are on hers as soon as they're out of sight, as soon as her back hits the wall. It's a wet, sloppy kiss that tastes of the fruity notes in the spirit that they'd been drinking, and she hums into his mouth, chasing the flavor, eager for more. He's got one hand on her hip and the other pawing at her tunic, and she bucks against him as his fingers brush over her left nipple through the thin layer of cloth beneath her vest. Now she can admit to herself that she'd been aching for him ever since he pressed his hand to the inside of her thigh under the table. Now that they're alone, she can kiss him to her heart's content, and she can rake her fingers through his lovely, lovely hair, and she can delight in the way he moans against her lips when her other hand finds the growing hardness in his trousers and  _squeezes—_

There's a commotion in the distance. The mingled sounds of shouting and things smashing into other things pierce through Rey's blissful bubble. She breaks the kiss and Ben chases after her mouth, muttering, "Forget it, who cares—"

"Ben." She stops him with a gentle but firm hand to his shoulder, and then she peers out of the alley.

The sight that confronts her a few meters away is...  _well..._

Finn, Poe, and Rose are fighting with a gaggle of other humans. Another ship's crew that had also made port, from the looks of it, and who are all very obviously  _also_ drunk. Everyone else is mostly skirting around them, but an enterprising Jacipri string quartet has moved closer and is now setting the scene to lively music, while a leonine merchant draped in bright silks and shiny jewelry is taking bets from the gathered crowd. As Rey watches, Rose kicks a much larger man in the groin while Finn upends a nearby basket of small round vegetables over the head of a man who has Poe in a chokehold.

Despite their gumption, Rey's friends are outnumbered two to one, and she and Ben promptly charge into the fray. "You and I are cursed," he tells her as he flings himself at someone who's trying to attack Finn from behind. "That's the only possible explanation as to why this keeps happening."

☾✩☽

For the second time since he came back from the dead, Ben wakes up with a raging hangover.

The first thing he notices after he cracks one bleary eye open is that he's in his and Rey's quarters on the  _Falcon,_ his sprawled position on the narrow bed causing one arm and one leg to dangle over the floor. The second thing he notices is his pounding headache, which combines with his dry-as-dust mouth to generate a feeling that can be summed up in two words:  _like shit._

The third thing he notices is that he's alone.

Ben's in no condition to use the Force and check the bond for Rey's whereabouts. Hell, he can barely manage to clamber out of bed, and halfway to the door he truly begins to believe that he's not going to make it— that he'll expire from the pain and the nausea after a few more steps.

But, miraculously, he doesn't. Bits and pieces of the events in the Holy City come back to him in brief flashes as he creakily navigates the ship's winding hallways. He'd been kissing Rey up against the alley wall, drinking in every single one of her oh so pretty sighs, and his body had been tensing with the anticipation that maybe he could get lucky, just a little bit...

Then the brawl had happened. Ben's not sure how it started, although, from the way Rey's friends had been yelling, someone being rude to somebody else had figured into it. There had been music playing in the background, strangely enough— but perhaps  _that_ had been in his head. All he knows for certain is that he'd gotten several good blows in, and received his fair share of them in turn. He remembers a heavy booted foot to his ribs and an elbow smashing into his eye, and he doesn't have to wonder for very long why the only thing that hurts is the migraine. Rey would have healed him after she sobered up.

Stars, he can't wait to see her again.

However, when Ben trudges into the galley, there's no sign of his beautiful girl. Instead, the decidedly less beautiful faces of Finn and Poe look up at his entrance. The two men are seated slumped at the table and nursing piping hot cups of caf, both of them as green around the gills and as red-eyed as Ben feels.

For several long moments, there is only silence.

Ben's considering just slinking back to his quarters and waiting for Rey to return from wherever she is, but Finn suddenly takes a deep breath.

"There should be some caf left in the distiller," he announces, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Ben  _blinks._

"Thank you," he finally replies. He walks over to the caf distiller as if on autopilot and pours out a cup. Then he turns back to Finn and Poe, his mind frantically racing for the least awkward way to remove himself from this situation.

Poe accidentally makes eye contact with him, sighs, and gestures to one of the empty chairs with only the faintest hint of belligerence, which leads Ben to conclude that the general doesn't have the energy to muster any strong emotions at the moment. Ben clamps his lips together to refrain from sounding like a broken record with another  _thank you,_ and he sits down. The three hungover men spend the next few minutes drinking their caf and not saying a word.

But Finn is apparently not the type who can endure quiet tension for long. "Rey and Rose are out buying supplies at the dockside establishments, in case you were wondering."

"I was."  _Don't say 'thank you,'_ Ben's inner voice has to warn him. "We're still in port, then?"

Finn nods. "You've been asleep for six hours. The rest of us, five."

"I don't even remember how we made it back here, least of all how I managed to fall asleep in my own bed," Ben grumbles.

"You and me both," Poe says. "I'm never drinking  _tihaar_ again."

"You mean 'never drinking  _tihaar_ with  _Rose_ again,'" Finn corrects him with a shudder. "That woman's the angriest drunk I've ever met."

Ben raises an eyebrow. "Is she the reason you were brawling with—" He tries to hone in on any details about their erstwhile opponents, but he draws a blank, and has to settle for— "those people?"

"Pretty much," says Poe. "The ringleader— that big guy— he bumped into her, almost sent her flying, and he didn't say sorry. He and his friends laughed, actually. I guess they found it amusing because Rose is so small, but..."

"But little did they know," Finn gravely picks up where Poe had left off. "She was on him like a wounded narglatch. Mind you, she's usually more diplomatic these days, being the leader of the free galaxy and all, but that  _tihaar_ was something else."

"No wonder the ancient Mandalorians spent their time picking fights," Poe huffs, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. "By the way, Solo— you have a  _mean_ right hook."

"I am glad that I could be of some assistance," Ben says.

Poe scowls at him. "You punched  _me._ You were probably trying to get the other guy, but he dodged."

"Ah." Ben grimaces. "Then I apologize."

Finn snigggers into his caf. "I saw it happen. It was hilarious."

Poe darts him a glare of utter betrayal, the effect of which is ruined when his lips quirk begrudgingly. "I guess it  _was_ kind of funny," he admits.

The three of them fall back into silence, although this time it's not as strained. Ben allows himself to relax, just a little bit, as they drink their caf. It's not perfect yet, and it probably never will be— but it's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Bantha milk](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Blue_milk).
> 
> [The Jaciprus system](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jaciprus_system). There's not much lore on [its native inhabitants](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Jacipri) so I took creative liberties.
> 
> [Sardine fritter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mon_Cala_Sardine_Fritter).
> 
> [Ranphyx](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ranphyx).
> 
> [Glockaw sauce](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Glockaw_sauce).
> 
> [Nerf ribs](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nerf_ribs).
> 
> [Tai](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tai).
> 
> [Hennix](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hennix).
> 
> [Voe](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Voe).
> 
> [The Great Purge](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Great_Purge).
> 
> [Tihaar](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tihaar).
> 
> [Shaak pot roast](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Shaak_pot_roast).
> 
> [Narglatch](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Narglatch/Legends).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No reference links in the end notes today because I was up all night writing and I'm about to fall asleep into my keyboard, but everything that you don't recognize can be found on [Wookieepedia](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page)! Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter— I hope that you'll let me know what you think of this one!

In the interests of maintaining the peace, Rey would never admit to Finn and Poe that she finds it hilarious how all it had taken for them to start marginally warming up to Ben was a drunken brawl and an accidental black eye— but it's something that she and Rose laugh about during one of their shifts.

"Men are all the same," Rose declares. "They can only bond over food, fighting, or sex."

"What do women bond over, then?" Rey asks.

"The richness of the human experience, of course," Rose says with a haughty sniff, and they share another chuckle before she unfastens her seatbelt and gets to her feet. "I'm going to grab some snacks from the pantry— do you want anything in particular?"

"The tin of Eilnian sweet flies, please," Rey tells her.

Rose shudders, but wisely abstains from commenting.

Once Rey's alone in the cockpit, she peruses the data on the navicomp. From the Nanth'ri Route, they'd junctioned off at Gyndine and are now sailing down the Ootmian Pabol, with only a couple of days to go before they make planetfall on Nar Shaddaa. The post-Jaciprus leg of the trip has been markedly tranquil thus far. She and Rose had come back from shopping to find the men drinking caf in the galley and, before Poe steered the _Falcon_ off-world, Rose had cooked a big meal to soak up the last of the hangovers; the conversation as they'd eaten had been on what could even be considered the _jovial_ side, with everyone contributing a hazy, inebriated memory so that they could piece the street fight back together into a cohesive sequence of events. Every communal meal and interaction since then has been polite— not that there had been a lot, with the staggered shifts and all.

Hell, Rey's barely even spoken to Ben these past few days. The only time that they can spend together is whenever it's Finn and Poe's turn in the cockpit— and Ben's usually asleep for most of that, having just come off his own ten-hour shift. Rey often wakes to him curled around her, snoring softly into her hair— which, she imagines, is in all likelihood basically the same thing he wakes up to, seeing as her last memory before passing out is almost always stumbling into their quarters at the end of her shift and climbing into bed and attaching herself to his big body like a limpet.

There is something about long-haul jumps and the coolness of space— and the act of monitoring glowing screens in the pulsing light of the starlines for hours on end— that makes people drowsy. Makes the body hoard every ounce of slumber that it can get, as if it were going into hibernation mode. Four standard days into this voyage, Rey feels as if she is made up of dreams and celestial wastes, lulled by the cradle of Ben's arms.

"Rey." With BB-8 trundling along next to her, Rose strides back into the cockpit holding bags of salt 'n' sour warra nuts and candied bofa fruit in one hand and the requested tin of preserved Eilnian sweet flies in the other. "Go to the lounge right now. You have _got_ to see this."

"See what?" Rey asks, a confused frown tugging at her lips.

"Just go," Rose insists. "Beebee and I will hold down the fort for a bit."

And that's how Rey finds herself wandering over to the lounge, alternately munching on the crunchy, nutty-flavored insects and wiggling her tongue into the spaces between her teeth to remove the legs stuck there. She almost stops short at the sight that greets her— Ben is hunkered down at the dejarik table opposite Finn and Poe, troops of colorful holographic monsters marching across the board between them. They seem to be playing two against one, and none of them so much as glance up at her as she hovers at the entryway, their brows furrowed in intense concentration.

"Ben, you really should be sleeping," Rey chides mildly. He's relieving her at the cockpit in four hours, after all.

Without tearing his gaze from the dejarik board, Ben grunts something barely decipherable under his breath. She can fool herself into thinking that it's along the lines of, _In a bit, my dearest love,_ but it sounds more like, _After I crush your friends to a pulp._

"He can sleep after we've defeated him in glorious battle, Rey," Poe declares. Finn nods in fervent agreement, neither of them looking at her.

_Men,_ Rey thinks with no small amount of exasperated fondness. She leans against the wall and eats her Eilnian sweet flies as she observes the game's progression, musing to herself that the fact that there's not much to do in space is on her side for once, helping her in this crusade to make Finn and Poe get along with Ben. When you're not sleeping, you're bored, and boredom can lead to even former sworn enemies sitting down together for a round of dejarik.

Finn and Poe are strategic players, putting their skills at crafting battlefield maneuvers to good use. In contrast, Ben is reckless, the type who takes huge risks hinged on the brute force of his pieces— risks that surprisingly manage to pay off more often than not. Rey's never had much patience for dejarik but she has to admit, as a spectator, that this clash between two totally different perspectives is mesmerizing to behold.

Eventually, Finn lets out a groan and Poe buries his head in his hands as Grimtaash the Molator, guardian of the Royal House of Alderaan, sweeps their last piece off of the board. If Rey hadn't been busy eating, she would have clapped; it had truly been a close match.

"Where the hell did you learn that moveset, Solo?" Finn demands.

Ben's expression is impassive as he hits the button that powers down the game, the triumphant Grimtaash vanishing in a blink. "Chewie taught me."

And, just like that, it's awkward again.

As one, Finn and Poe look at Rey for help. Her mind races as she tries to figure out what to do.

The thing about this situation is that they're always circling back to the past. It's unavoidable. For Ben, this ship is filled with memory, lurking in every corner like quicksand waiting to drag him down again.

She has to do her best to stop that from happening. She has to show him that there is a future— that there _can_ be a future, rising up from out of the ashes of the desolate years.

"I see that Chewie's still putting a damper on your bid to become the reigning dejarik champions even when he's all the way on Kashyyyk," Rey tells Finn and Poe.

"We _will_ crush him one day," Poe retorts. "And Solo, too."

The ghost of a smile flickers across Ben's face. "Keep practicing, then." He stands up, and one beseeching glance at Rey is all it takes for her to hurry over to his side, grabbing his hand and ushering him out of the lounge and towards the crew's quarters. As they leave, she glances at Finn over her shoulder in silent request, and he nods— he and Poe will keep Rose company for a bit.

Ben is silent right up until Rey has gently coaxed him to sit on their bed. His Force signature isn't wound up into the tortured, thorny mass that she'd been expecting, which is a good sign. It's a steady thread, albeit weary and resigned and wistful all at once.

She drops to her knees before him. His eyes widen and she swears that the pulse point in his neck looks like it's about to jump out of his skin. The suggestiveness of their positions is not lost on her and she colors fiercely, hastily ducking her head to busy herself with the task of removing his boots for him.

"Oh," Ben says in a small voice.

Rey's expected back at her post soon, so it's not like they have time to do... _that._ She's never done it before. The learning curve will take up a lot of time, indeed.

But before she can even start to feel bad that she's disappointed him, he bends down to drop a kiss on the crown of her head, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek, and she kind of wants to cry from how much she loves him in that moment. She pulls off his boots and his socks and then tucks him into bed, arranging the blanket around him while he stares up at her with something like tenderness, something like reverence.

"When Chewie looked at you, he saw the little boy who used to climb up on his shoulders," Rey says, stroking Ben's hair. "He told me so himself, when I got back from Exegol and he learned that you were gone. I don't know what that means for you and him, moving forward— but we'll see, yeah?"

Ben takes a deep breath. "Yeah, we'll see," he echoes, looking and sounding so incredibly sad that she instinctively grasps for the bond, trying to see what's wrong. But he retreats from her, closing his eyes, and so she just stays by his side, carding her fingers through his hair until he falls asleep.

☾✩☽

Another day passes and, as per Rose's instructions, they break up the last leg of the Ootmian Pabol into five-hour shifts. This turns out to be a good call. They're all more awake now, while also being well-rested. The journey continues to be uneventful.

That is, until Rey and Rose get it into their heads to clear out the cargo hold hidden under the _Falcon'_ s rearmost deck plate.

"This is a fool's errand," Ben remarks, hanging back as Rose takes a spanner to the door's rusty lock mechanism while Rey shines a glowlamp over her head. "Are either of you familiar with the adage, 'Out of sight, out of mind'? My father almost never even _ventured_ down this corridor once the bigger compartments were refurbished. That hold hasn't been touched in decades."

"He talks a lot, doesn't he?" Rose quips to Rey, barely glancing up from her work.

"Yes, but he's very handsome," Rey says earnestly.

Ben makes a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat, the tips of his ears turning red with an emotion that he can't decide if it's pleasure or embarrassment.

Rose opens her mouth as if she's planning to cut him down to size yet again, but suddenly there's a click as the spanner finds its mark, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and the door slides open.

Rey and Rose's squeals of triumph are short-lived. With the absence of the barrier that had been holding them back, piles upon piles of junk spill out from the long-forgotten hold, surrounded by clouds of dust. Ben scoops Rey and Rose up by the waist with one arm each, effectively tackling them out of the way before they can be buried by the landslide of rubble.

But there's no escaping the dust. It suffuses the hallway in a noxious miasma, and for several long moments the three of them are busy shielding their faces and coughing. Jarred by the collision with the floor, the cap on an industrial-sized bottle of oil comes loose and then the greasy, tar-colored substance is _everywhere,_ splattering them from head to toe.

When it's over— when the moving mountains of debris have stilled their flow and the dust particles have settled— anyone with eyes can be forgiven for thinking Rey and Rose had fallen into an oil spill after rolling around in the sand. Ben's absolutely certain that his appearance leaves much to be desired as well.

"Okay," Rose begrudgingly concedes, "maybe this _wasn't_ such a good idea, after all."

Wrangling the accumulated junk back into the hold takes a while, but eventually they close the door again and hightail it out of the corridor to get cleaned up. By the time he and Rey enter their quarters, Ben can no longer suppress his amusement; he chuckles, and Rey turns to him, her quizzical hazel eyes practically the only visible feature left on her face amidst all the dirt.

"You look like a skittermouse that's just finished sand-bathing," Ben explains.

"And _you_ look very cute," Rey says brightly, which of course makes him clamp his lips shut against the feeling that he's going to burst into flames at any second.

If she'd been searching for ways to get him to shut up, this tactic is the most effective one thus far.

He lets her use the sonic first, but after his turn he is quick to come to the conclusion that it simply won't do. While all the oil and grime is _technically_ gone, he still feels vaguely unclean.

Ben decides that he needs a good scrub. With actual soap and water.

"Is the shower in the captain's cabin still functional?" he asks Rey as he steps out of the 'fresher.

"It should be." She's taken down her buns and is running a comb that's missing half its teeth through the tangles of her hair. "The others and I would occasionally use it during the war, and it wasn't that long ago when I did a comprehensive system scan and everything was in working order. By the _Falcon'_ s standards, anyway," she adds almost to herself, wincing a little as the comb meets resistance.

Ben is struck by what is quite possibly the best idea he's ever had— or the _worst._

"Do you—" Nervousness makes his voice catch in his throat. He swallows and tries again. "Do you want to shower with me?"

Rey freezes in the middle of yanking at a particularly different tangle. She stares at him, a section of her hair suspended on the comb that she's holding several inches away from her head.

Ben _panics._ He's just about to tell her to forget it, to ignore him, he doesn't know what he's saying, he's having a stroke—

— but then she's lowering the comb and she's beaming at him, so shy and so happy all at once. "Yes," she says. "Yes, I'd love to."

☾✩☽

Although she never stays in it, Rey keeps the captain's cabin— Han's old quarters— clean. It's her tribute, in a way, to the smuggler whose exploits had fed her childhood imagination and ambitions, whom she had finally met and realized wasn't larger than life but just a man, with his own failures and regrets, but who had the kind of heart that rightfully deserved its place in legend.

Now she's going to be naked in his 'fresher with his son.

She tries not to think about it too much as she trails after Ben, who heads straight for the 'fresher and is careful not to look around the cabin— whether because of the grief of memory or the embarrassment of what they're about to do, she doesn't know, but maybe it's both. He leans over into the shower stall, pressing the button with a vaguely skeptical expression on his face that only intensifies when the rattling whine of the ancient pipes fills the small space. A few seconds later, though, hot water cascades from the needle jets, immediately steaming up the tiles.

Rey is a mess of nerves as she disrobes and steps underneath the spray. It takes a few moments of hesitation on Ben's part before he follows suit, peeling off his shirt first, and then his trousers and his underwear— only at the periphery of her vision, because she's keeping her gaze fixed ahead, not wanting to make him feel self-conscious by actually _gawking_ at him.

But soon enough the shower wall that she'd been staring at is eclipsed by Ben.

_Ben,_ in all his broadness, an imposing redwood tree of a man, so tall that the tips of his wavy hair are only a few inches away from grazing the ceiling, with sharp collarbones that she wants to sink her teeth into, with shoulders so wide that she could probably stretch out across them with maximum comfort, should he deign to carry her that way. Ben, whose bare chest she has seen once, in the pulsating currents of the bond, but the way her mouth goes dry it's as if this is her first good look.

In a way, it _is._ Two years ago, she'd been too shocked and too angry to appreciate his form when he turned to her wearing only his black trousers. Back then, her rage had been sufficient to put out the spark of traitorous interest that the sight of his body had ignited within her core.

But now all of that animosity is behind them. And Ben's chest is— in a word— _massive._ Every inch is smooth and pale and exquisitely defined. She twitches from how much she yearns to use him as a pillow, to press her cheek to hard muscle and listen to the beat of his heart. There is _so much_ to look at, and she is powerless to stop her eyes from drifting lower, taking in his toned abdomen and his lean hips, moving downwards like slow fall to...

_Gosh,_ Rey thinks dumbly.

And then, even _more_ dumbly— _That's a penis._

She knows enough to know that it should normally sort of be... _dangling_ from between the legs. But Ben's a bit hard, and growing harder with each second that passes. It springs up from a thatch of wiry dark hair and it already looks so very _long_ and so very _thick._

She gulps a little. Maybe.

He's staring at her, too. Watching as water trickles down her limbs. She feels desire radiating from his energy signature, shimmering at the edges like heat haze. Right as she's about to tell him to never mind the shower— she really just wants to go back to their quarters and kiss him for the rest of their lives— he shakes his head as if to clear it, switching off the water and cupping his palms under the automated dispenser that releases a thick, citrus-scented foam designed to cleanse both hair and body. Rey can only be thankful that Finn had been meticulous about refilling the dispenser back then.

Ben searches her face for any sign of permission or its opposite; she nods, holding his gaze, and he works the foam into her wet hair. His large yet achingly gentle fingers scrub at her scalp and squeeze the lather through to the very ends of her tresses, taking their sweet time. It feels so good that she closes her eyes, savoring the moment. Savoring being cared for. The bond _sighs._

After he's done shampooing her hair, Ben directs his ministrations lower. He rubs the foam all over the upper half of her body— she squirms when he gets to her breasts, and he smirks and tweaks one sudsy nipple in response. Her breath hitches and his features soften and he wraps his arms around her, reaching for more foam that he then spreads down her back, lingering on the globes of her ass. She smiles against his chest, letting him grope her there for as long as he wants.

It's when he kneels down to soap up her legs that Rey starts to _blush._ More fiercely than she's ever had before, for as long as she's known him. To his credit, Ben is more or less casual about the fact that he's almost at eye level with the triangle between her thighs, his demeanor practically _professional._

Right before he stands up again, though, he presses a kiss to the downy front of her sex and she nearly keels over, clutching at his shoulders for dear life.

His mouth _there..._ she's going to be thinking about _that_ for the rest of the day.

He turns the shower back on and rinses her off, his movements still so careful and thorough. She understands that she will feel the imprint of his hands on her skin long after this is over, and that she will always remember the look in his eyes.

Once she's all clean and smelling of citrus, Ben takes her by the shoulders and turns them both around so that he's the one standing underneath the shower head. It's the most captivating sight that Rey has ever witnessed, water droplets trickling down his sculpted torso so that every muscle gleams in the 'fresher's sterile white light. She's excited to do for him what he did for her, and it's not long before the shower's been switched off again and he's bowing his head so that she can wash his hair— although, frankly, the moment is somewhat ruined when she senses his amusement at their height difference through the bond.

He picks up on her ire right away. "I'm not laughing _at_ you."

"Well, you're the only one laughing," Rey grumbles, and Ben smirks, stealing a kiss to the inside of her wrist as it glides past his lips.

The simple sweetness of the gesture goes a long way towards mollifying her. Rey sets to her task with enthusiasm, soon moving on from his hair to the rest of him and, _stars,_ what a delight it is, to learn his body this way, to press the tips of her fingers to his contours and his hollows, to memorize the placement of every ridge and freckle and mole. The bond wraps around both of them like a warm, cozy blanket, and Ben's Force signature is the most at peace that she's ever sensed it. She can't help being a little proud that she's capable of making him feel this way.

And when she drops to her knees to wash his legs— well. She nearly gets her eye poked out. Apparently, she can make him feel _other_ things, too.

Just like that, she's back to blushing and he's back to being tense. Try as she might to focus her attention on his thighs and his shins, his arousal is _extremely_ hard to ignore. He's at his full... _might,_ flushed pink, covered in droplets of water and a bead of clear fluid that is _not_ water leaking from the tip.

Rey doesn't even realize that she's stopped moving her hands and is just full-on ogling. It only dawns on her when Ben blurts out, "I can turn around if you want— I know it's awkward, I—"

She doesn't interrupt him with words. Instead, the rest of his sentence dies in his throat as she leans forward and kisses the side of his shaft. The skin there is hot and silky against her lips, and she is happy to do it again, this time adding a flick of her tongue that makes him groan softly, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"Could you turn the shower back on?" she asks, not quite pulling her face away from his groin so that her lips graze his erection with every syllable that they utter.

"Nghhh," is Ben's reply.

Rey blinks, and then _grins._ She reaches out with the Force, sending the water cascading over their heads once more, washing away the suds while she continues to lavish him with kisses and licks as his breathing turns ragged and his energy signature _spikes._

It's after the shower's been switched off again and while she's running her tongue along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock that the thrilling, rougher aspect of Ben's nature emerges, his grip on her hair tightening just the slightest bit. "Rey." His voice is so urgent and husky that it makes her shiver. "Rey, could— could you try putting it in your mouth—"

He doesn't need to ask twice. She wraps her fist around the base of his shaft and seals her lips around the thick, round head, flavors of precome and clean skin immediately hitting her tongue. She sucks on his tip like how she would suck on an ice pop, because she knows no other way, and he groans again, plastering his free hand to the shower wall for balance. She taps into the bond to figure out what he likes, but his end of their connection is an incoherent mess— although she does end up catching glimpses of his emotions seesawing between mind-numbing pleasure and bursts of pain whenever her teeth accidentally scrape his sensitive skin.

"Sorry," Rey gasps, popping his cock out of her mouth. "I've never done this before—"

"It's perfect, you're perfect." Ben's dark eyes are wild and glazed. "Don't stop— please, _cyar'ika—"_

The endearment goes straight to her heart. And also to her clit, in all honesty. She takes him between her lips again, this time concentrating on keeping her teeth covered as much as she can, and eventually she falls into a rhythm of sorts, the lewd, wet sounds of smacking and slurping echoing through the 'fresher, mingling with Ben's huffs and pants and the slow drip of water over tile. "That's good, sweetheart," he rasps, stroking her hair, and her eyes flutter shut at both the gesture and the praise, her own arousal trickling down her thighs. He's so big that her jaw is starting to hurt but she powers through it, desperate to see him unravel. His orgasm is so near that she can almost taste it herself, the bond spinning madly between them, and then—

_Stop,_ he tells her through their mental link, as if he's been rendered incapable of speaking out loud.

Rey complies instantly, albeit with some confusion. Ben helps her to her feet and kisses her, long and deep and _hard,_ as he sends her an image from some treasured fantasy of his. An image of what he wants her to do.

_Oh._ Her heart hammering within her ribcage, Rey bends forward, bracing her palms against the shower door, a moan escaping her parted lips as her breasts press against the cold, fogged-up glass. The heat emanating from Ben's broad frame burns behind her, his large fingers digging into her hips. and she spreads her legs wider and damn near falls down, knees buckling, at the _incredible_ sensation of his cock poking between her thighs, gliding along her outer walls in a fumbling rhythm that makes her see stars all the same.

She hadn't known it could be done like this. Nothing penetrative, just bare skin sliding against bare skin, her nipples rubbing against the glass with every thrust as she drips all over him, her toes curling every time he brushes against her clit.

"I can't wait to fuck you, _sul kich_ _á_ _,"_ Ben mutters through clenched teeth. The sweet endearment— _my love_ in Mirialan— combined with such a _dirty_ word shoots through Rey's veins like an adrenaline rush. "You're so soft and slick down there. Like rose petals. I can't wait to feel you stretch around me. "

Rey _whimpers,_ the world— the entire _universe—_ narrowed down to only the hoarse rumble of Ben's voice and his cock thrusting between the tops of her drenched thighs. She rocks her ass against his hips, chasing the bliss that only this kind of desperate friction can provide. Everything is mist and citrus and the crescendoing triumph of the bond.

"Nearly came in your pretty little mouth," Ben continues as his pace grows more erratic. "But I needed you to come, too. It's no good if you're not enjoying yourself."

"I _was_ enjoying myself," Rey breathes. She might as well give this kind of talk a shot. "I loved sucking your— your cock." She can't see his face, but the odd sputtering noise that he makes from behind her lets her know that this had been the right decision. "You're so _big,_ Ben. And you taste so good." She bites back a squeal as his hips slap against her backside with a renewed burst of energy, causing the head of his erection to slide along her clit just right. "Next time," she manages to grate out, even though all conscious thought has started to splinter and fade, "next time, I want you to come in my mouth."

"Rey—" Ben seizes up, and it's as though a tremor runs through the bond that makes it bloom fissures of light, and suddenly there is warm, thick, sticky liquid spattering down Rey's thighs.

The sensation of those first few drops of Ben's come on her bare skin is the final push that she needs to soar headlong into her own orgasm. It rushes to meet her and she cries out, her fingers scrabbling at the glass door as the pleasure unfolds and unmakes them both.

☾✩☽

They collapse to the floor of the shower stall in a tangle of sweaty limbs, their combined fluids smeared between them. Ben looks utterly _wrecked,_ and Rey wastes no time in pulling him in for a kiss, her arms looped around his neck.

"We're going to need another shower," she murmurs against his lips, and he huffs out that quiet, disbelieving, happy laugh that she had loved so much the first time she heard it, that she had carried with her every day since then.

"Fine by me," he says, kissing her again with the grin still lingering at the corners of his mouth.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about the lack of updates, as those of you who follow me on socials may know I experienced some really devastating losses these past few months on top of irl responsibilities piling up and it was just impossible to write fic. However, the thought of continuing this story and y'all's nice comments and messages that trickled in definitely helped keep me going. Thank you for that as well as for your patience, I hope that this chapter can go a little way in making up for the long wait!

By the time the _Millennium Falcon_ makes planetfall on Nar Shaddaa, Rey’s more in love with Ben Solo than ever before—more in love with him than she’d ever thought it was possible to be with someone. His wry humor, his rare-half-smile, his voice that is deep and yet rather soft-spoken, the way he holds her so tightly when he sleeps. How he tries so damn hard to be gentle with her, overly conscious of how big he is and the bitter history of their hands inflicting pain on each other. How he tries just as earnestly to get along with her friends. The bond that she’d locked away for so long is steadily healing, like a scab over the wound in her mind where he’d been torn away last year, and in it she finds the peace and belonging that she’d gone her whole life without.

She’s in love with his body as well—his broad chest that is the perfect size to snuggle into, his large fingers that she frequently stares at for far too long while daydreaming about what they can… _accomplish,_ his soft hair that she could happily card her own fingers through for the rest of her days, his lush mouth that is so generous in giving and receiving kisses. She might even be a little in love with his dick—the way it had looked in the ‘fresher, so pink and smooth, the way it had filled her mouth and her palms, heavy and hot, the feel of it sliding graceless and desperate along her outer walls as she was bent over while he panted roughly in her ear.

She tells herself that all of the sexual stuff is just a bonus. She loves Ben, period. And when the _Falcon_ glides into one of the docking bays at Mezenti Spaceport, she almost _resents_ the galaxy for having to be saved yet again, putting a stop to their voyage through the stars ensconced in his father’s ship with all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.

Of course, Finn and Rose and Poe _had_ been on that trip, too, and they look significantly more enthusiastic compared to her and Ben as they disembark, BB-8 trundling at their heels. Poe Dameron in particular is the most animated that Rey’s seen him in a while, and it occurs to her that he must miss being out in the field like this. Before she became one with the Force, General Organa had taught him how to lead a government, but not how to enjoy it.

Still, Poe defers to Rose as she is the mission leader, and it is Rose who decides that they’ll take a hover taxi to the rendezvous point. “Faster than walking and more discreet than renting airspeeders,” she states, and the unspoken assumption that mind tricks will be used to make the cabbie forget they ever hired him lingers over their group.

They hail the first hover taxi that they see loitering outside the spaceport. It’s a rusty yellow contraption that has seen better _centuries,_ probably, but the slick reptilian Vodran who drives it assures them that it’s serviceable and that it can accommodate five humans and a droid.

However, when they pile inside it turns out that—

“The second half of that statement,” Ben grumbles into the back of Rey’s head, “was a complete and utter _lie.”_

She nods, and in nodding the tip of her nose bumps against BB-8’s spherical frame. He beeps, his head swiveling toward her, and Poe yelps as the droid’s antenna slips up his nose. He and BB-8 are squeezed behind the dashboard, beside the driver’s seat, and it’s a tight fit—to say nothing of Ben and Rey and Finn and Rose, who are all crammed together in the back.

“Solo’s the size of five men,” Finn complains. “ _He_ should be the one in front.”

“But that will mean I’ll have to sit on Rey’s lap,” Poe points out, “and I don’t think any of us want that.”

“Rey, could you budge up a little?” Rose squeaks. “Your elbow’s in my guts.”

This leaves Rey with no choice but to move further to her right. Due to the small space she’d already been halfway out of the seat between Rose and Ben, and this change in her position parks her bottom squarely atop his thighs. Rey desperately hopes that she’s not blushing from the embarrassment and, yes, the delight of it all, but it’s a lost cause when she peers at Ben over her shoulder and sees the red flush creeping up his neck. Heat suffuses her skin in what she’s pretty sure is a perfect mirror of his.

They are a dyad, indeed.

Whistling a jauntily off-key tune, the Vodran climbs into the driver’s seat, straps himself in, and presses a button to warm up the ancient, clattery repulsors. “Where to, folks?”

There is a handful of soft whirring noises as BB-8 decrypts the coordinates that the Galactic Alliance’s contact had sent and then plugs it into the hover taxi’s GPS system. A frown tugs at the lower half of the Vodran’s leathery green face when the data pops up on the screen.

“That’s Dead Town, in the Undercity,” he finally says. “You don’t want to go there. Really sketchy place.”

“Ah, yes, compared to the rest of the erroneously labeled Smuggler’s Moon that is so refined and law-abiding,” Ben drawls.

“Take it down a notch, Solo,” admonishes Poe, the president of smartass remarks. To their driver, he says, “We’re tourists. This must be our hundredth visit by now and we’d like to see what else Nar Shaddaa has to offer beyond the Entertainment Ring and the Red Light Sector and all that.”

“Yeah,” Finn adds, “we’d like to get to know the _real_ Nar Shaddaa.”

“Could you also recommend a nice hotel to stay in?” Rose pipes up. “The lodgings last time weren’t so good.”

Rey arches a brow in surprise as she observes her friends. Finn and Rose and Poe, they fall into it so easily, reinforcing one another’s stories with deftness, without a second thought. She wonders how many times they’ve made this kind of play before, and how many times it has worked.

But it doesn’t work today. The Vodran doesn’t seem to hear them—or, at least he doesn’t respond to any of it, turning instead to face the people in the backseat, narrowing his round black eyes at Ben. “Solo, you say?”

Rey’s veins flood with ice. It had been a critical error on Poe’s part. In hindsight, there was no chance of that name not ringing a bell here in Hutt Space, among those who lived side by side with the denizens of the criminal underworld. Before Ben can say or do anything, before anyone else can react, she’s lashing out a hand, yanking at the strings of the Force with more brute panic than grace.

“You will take us to our destination with no more questions,” she commands the Vodran, her tone as unflinching as steel.

His ridged features relax, his previously shrewd gaze transmuting into a distant glassiness. “I will take you to your destination with no more questions,” he echoes woodenly.

Rey’s fingers tremble as she pulls _harder._ “You will forget that anyone here is named Solo.”

“I will forget that anyone here is named Solo.”

She lets go of the Vodran’s mind and slumps against Ben’s chest in relief. A pair of strong arms encircle her waist from behind, as automatically as if it were instinct.

The Vodran scratches his horned head, his attention flickering back to the dashboard. “Dead Town it is,” he hums, oblivious to his passengers releasing a collective breath. The hover taxi lurches into the air, its hinges creaking against the will of gravity, and the Vodran tugs on the control wheel and slams the accelerator and, just like that, they’re plunging away from Mezenti Spaceport and into the tangle of garish neon signs and grimy skyscrapers that is Nar Shaddaa at night.

It is… the actual _worst._ When the vehicle’s not rocking from one side to the other, it’s _rattling,_ as if it’s going to fall apart at any minute. The repulsors continue to sound like they have a bad cough. Rey’s practically bouncing on Ben’s lap, and the awkwardness—the _suggestiveness—_ is not lost on either of them. His Force signature is electric… and _wild._

Her backside is pressed against the front of his trousers, jostled by the hover taxi’s erratic movements every few seconds. After several minutes have passed, Ben makes a rumbly sound that is half irritation, half something else, low in the back of his throat, and those great big hands of his latch on to her hips, repositioning her.

Shifting her so that she’s almost sliding off to the side of his thigh, balanced atop only one of his knees. Her bottom well and truly away from his groin.

Rey bites down on the laughter that threatens to dance off of her tongue. They haven’t gone all the way yet—he’s so intent on learning her first, on finding out exactly what makes her tick—but she knows that it will happen soon. She can taste that glorious possibility in the air, she can’t stop herself from reaching for it whenever they’re alone. She turns to face Ben as best as she can; he looks _severely_ put out, his lips clamped together in a hard line even as he tightens his grasp on her hips to keep her from falling off entirely.

_Comfortable?_ she asks him through the bond, wrapping her arms around his neck.

_Not in the slightest,_ he grumps.

She beams at him, idly playing with the shaggy strands of dark hair curling at his nape. Elsewhere in the hover taxi, her friends are making small talk with one another and with the driver, keeping up the ruse that they’re tourists, but it’s just her and Ben in this little corner of the vehicle. Just them holding each other, just her watching as his expression transmutes from frustrated to soft while more and more of the Smuggler’s Moon unfolds around them.

Nar Shaddaa is covered entirely in urban sprawl. Illuminated by neon signs and flashing holo-displays, the buildings grow close together, forming pitch-black alleyways that conceal all manner of sins. There is a plethora of cantinas and nightclubs, surgical and bio-enhancement shops, massage parlors and brothels, and purported restaurants that are quite obviously spice dens judging from the customers staggering out the door with the light of another world in their eyes. Amidst these establishments are the skyslums—teetering shanty town structures wherein most of the moon’s inhabitants lay their heads. The same inhabitants that are out on the congested streets in droves, hawking black market wares, pickpocketing, brawling, and rubbing elbows with gangsters and pleasure-seekers and addicts. Despite the best efforts of the repulsorlift garbage scows buzzing about like flies, the muggy air is replete with the odors of rotten food and spice and oil and urine drying on concrete.

Simply put, it’s a wretched place. And there is something about it that reminds Rey of Jakku—and Tatooine. While the Smuggler’s Moon is no remote desert and probably boasts twice the population of both planets combined, it has that same hopeless quality to it. The same grime that sticks to the eyes of those who live there.

Ben nuzzles at her temple in wordless reassurance. Only then does she realize that she practically has him in a stranglehold with how tightly she’s clinging to his neck. She’d instinctively sought him out for some measure of comfort without even being fully aware of it.

The hover taxi winds precariously through the neon and the grease, and then it’s dipping low, far beneath the Entertainment Ring and the factories and warehouses of the Upper Industrial Sector, far beneath Ko Hentota and Hutta Town. Nar Shaddaa is a vertical ecumenopolis, its citizens building over old structures, building higher and higher toward the smog-obscured heavens. 

Rey can’t help but tense in the same way she senses her companions doing as their derelict vehicle navigates the twists and turns of the Undercity, its engines even louder in the sudden quiet that has fallen over the world far away from the shops and the crowds. It’s so much darker here as well, the illuminated signs and holograms growing fewer and farther between. Despite the general atmosphere of abandonment and solitude, there is a whole host of _movement,_ shadowy figures recoiling from the hover taxi’s headlights, slinking back into even darker corners at the periphery of Rey’s vision. Hundreds of unseen eyes stare at their group from above and from below, from all directions.

The small talk has petered out. Finn and Rose and Poe—and even the Vodran—are silent, seemingly on the alert. BB-8’s domed head whirls rapidly as he scans the area, his sensors beeping frequently with the detection of possible threats. Ben’s heartbeat against Rey’s spine is shallow and quick. Nervous.

Nervous _for_ her, that something might happen to her, if the way he digs his fingers into her hipbones is any indication.

The driver slows down as they eventually reach a vast, gloomy plain littered with blocky structures. At first Rey thinks it’s some sort of junkyard, but then they draw near and it turns out that the structures are mausoleums, names and dates chiseled into stone or carved into metal, barely legible in the faint glow of scattered lamps.

“Welcome to Dead Town. Population: a million corpses, give or take.” The Vodran docks the hover taxi at the edge of the plain. He chuckles under his breath—it would appear as though the mental compulsions Rey placed upon him had not been enough to get him to keep his opinions to himself. “My egg-mother’s buried here, as is my clutch-sibling. Say hello to them for me, won’t you?”

No one dignifies that with a response, not even Poe. After the passengers disembark, it’s Ben who performs the dubious honor of compelling the Vodran to forget that the ride had ever happened once he’d left this particular district in the Undercity. It’s not long before Rey and her companions are watching the hover taxi disappear into the darkness.

“Why are we meeting the contact _here?”_ Ben addresses his demand to the group at large. “If there is a prime location for subterfuge, it is on the upper levels of Nar Shaddaa, where everyone is either busy with their own illicit dealings or is well-versed in the art of not asking questions. We’re calling attention to ourselves by skulking around in a cemetery in the middle of the night.”

For a brief second Finn looks like he wants to clobber Ben, and Rey sighs—they’d all been doing so well, too—but the moment passes, and Finn takes a deep breath and explains relatively patiently. “Our contact has led a very— _adventurous_ life, during which he's made more than a few enemies. The sort of enemies who tend to congregate on the sort of world that can be unironically called the Smuggler’s Moon.”

“So he is a _conspicuous_ spy.” Ben’s tone oozes sarcasm. “That’s the best kind.”

Finn blinks, and just as it’s looking as though he might really clobber Ben, after all, a low and familiar chuckle emanates from behind one of the mausoleums, echoing through the stale air.

Rey immediately knows who the contact is. And so does Ben. All color drains from his face at the sound of that laugh.

“Pardon me for the interruption.” A dapper older gentleman with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair saunters out from his hiding place in a whirl of richly hued furs and velvets. “But I couldn’t just stand there and let you continue assassinating my character. It’s bad for the resume, Mister whoever-you-are—”

He stops short when he gets a good look at Ben. His jaw drops.

And, just like that, Rey has a front-row seat to Lando Calrissian being at a loss for words for what is quite possibly the first time in his life.

☾✩☽

Ben can’t move. Can’t _breathe._ A ton of bricks has slammed into his chest, leaving him sore from the weight of it. Sore from the weight of the horror, the shame, and the regret.

The last time he’d seen Lando was shortly before he’d been shipped off to train with Luke. So much has been lost since then; it is incongruous that one sliver of his childhood should remain in the form of his parents’ oldest and dearest friend. Lando has put on some weight and his features are wrinkled even when he’s not smiling and there are silver streaks running through his hair, but his dark eyes are the _same._ The same eyes that had always sparkled at Han’s son like they were conspirators in some mischievous scheme, the same eyes that had been soft when they said their goodbyes years and years ago.

It leaves Ben reeling. He and Lando stare at each other as though they’re staring at ghosts, there in the lamplight and the shadows of the graveyard. The past shrouds them like the calm before the storm.

It’s Lando who moves first. He walks toward Ben with no hesitation but, perhaps, a certain measured gait, a certain wariness, stopping just short of arm’s reach. He is smaller than the Lando of Ben’s memories, but that is because Ben grew taller than all of them, grew like a weed over his father and his mother and his uncle.

All three of whom are dead now. Because of him, because of the things that he has done.

Ben lifts his chin, his gaze never faltering from Lando’s in what could probably be interpreted as defiance, but in truth he is only preparing himself. Preparing for the older man to punch him, or shoot him, or scream at him, or whatever else tickles his fancy. It would be no less than what Ben deserves.

Lando reaches up to cradle both sides of Ben’s face in shaking, weathered hands. “Little starfighter.” His voice is hoarse with love and grief. “What have they done to you?”

_No,_ is Ben’s first thought. _It shouldn’t happen like this. Be angry. Take me to task. Try to kill me, like Chewie did. The three of them, they’re gone, and it’s my fault, I—_

He _breaks._

The last of everything he’d been holding in since Han came to him on Kef Bir surges free from its dam, rolling through him in waves as he collapses into Lando’s waiting arms. His vision’s gone blurry and so he closes his eyes, feeling the sting of hot tears sliding down his cheeks. “Uncle,” he gasps out through shuddering sobs. “Uncle Lando.”

“It’s all right, kid.” Lando pats him on the back. Great big thumps. The way he used to way back then. He’s smiling against Ben’s shoulder. “Everything’s all right now.” To the others, he says, “You told me he was dead.” Ben belatedly realizes that Rey and her friends must be watching this scene unfold with no small amount of consternation.

“Yeah, well,” Poe mutters, “the galaxy’s full of surprises.”

_It is,_ Ben thinks distantly as he bawls like a child into Lando Calrissian’s fur-trimmed coat. _It really is._

☾✩☽

There is scant opportunity for Lando and Ben to savor their reunion, given that pressing matters are at hand. Lando was one of those who’d been debriefed about the events in the throne room of the Sith Citadel at the end of the war, so Rey takes it upon herself to launch into a succinct explanation of how it is that Ben can be standing before them now, alive and well—if a little weepy.

Well, not just _a little._ After his pained, gusty sobs fade, after the tremors wracking his broad shoulders cease, after he and his honorary uncle reluctantly stop hugging, Ben has a bad case of the sniffles and the tip of his long nose is bright red. He walks back to Rey’s side and takes her hand, wiping his face on his sleeve.

_Right when I think I couldn’t love you more,_ she muses, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze, remembering how he’d nuzzled at her temple to soothe her, earlier, in the upper levels.

Lando’s gaze drifts over Ben and Rey’s entwined hands but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he leads the group further into Dead Town and into a tiny mausoleum that looks even more decrepit than the rest. The temperature drops to what is very nearly a sharp chill as soon as Rey steps over the threshold.

Around fifteen Nar Shaddaans are buried here, already too much for the small space, their tombs marked by statues of their likeness, their epitaphs pointing to lives lived in the fledgling years of the Old Republic. These are graves that are no longer visited; there is no one left to remember that they’re there.

“You have to pay the overseer if you want your family’s plot taken care of,” says Lando. “She’s the one who programs the cleaner droids, and they’re outdated models that aren’t aware of their surroundings beyond their duties. No one will disturb us here.” He darts Ben a wink. “I hope that this meets the standards of my most fervent critic.”

Ben hangs his head, looking like a seven-year-old who has been chastised by their guardian instead of the former Supreme Leader of the First Order and one of the most powerful Force users of his time. “Sorry, Uncle,” he mumbles.

Finn and Rose and Poe make no secret of the fact that they’re amazed by this shift in Ben’s behavior. “Lando’s too powerful,” Rey hears Poe whisper to the two others, who nod in agreement.

“To business, then.” Lando retrieves a couple of crystalline data cubes from the pocket of his coat and tosses one to Ben, another to Rose. “These contain you and your plus one’s invitations to the party that Durga Besadii Tai is hosting at his palace on Nal Hutta tomorrow night. I was only able to procure two invitations, but I suppose one of you will be mission control so it all works out, yes?”

Rose nods. “Poe will be mission control. We need all Force users on the ground and we need a skilled pilot that can provide a quick getaway in case things go south.” Her mouth twitches. “As they so often do.” She glances at Finn. “Want to be my plus one?”

Finn chuckles. “I’ve been wondering when we’d get our second espionage date.”

Ben is silent, but he holds up the data cube for Rey’s perusal, peering down at her with a vague half-smile and a tentative question in his eyes.

“Of course,” she breathes, forgetting for a moment that this won’t be an _actual_ date, that what they will really be doing is infiltrating a crime lord’s fortress to extract sensitive information about a potential threat to the galaxy. _Something is coming—_ but why is it so hard to care, why does she want to do nothing but go on dates with Ben, her big, handsome Ben, and kiss his nose and hold his hand and—

A throat is cleared from somewhere far off. Ben and Rey tear their gazes from each other, looking toward the source.

“As I was _saying—”_ Despite his pointed tone, the mock glare that Lando is throwing in Ben’s direction is somehow both sly and affectionate—“you obviously cannot waltz into a Hutt Cartel stronghold as General Finn and Commander Tico of the Galactic Alliance, Rey the last Jedi, and Han Solo’s son. I have some alternative identities prepared—with the necessary documentation, if required.”

“How do you just _happen_ to have a bunch of fake identities on hand?” Rey asks.

“It’s Lando,” Ben says wryly.

Lando grins. “Kid’s right. In my line of work, you never know when you’ll need a new life in a pinch.” He pauses, studying the present company, his shrewd eyes roving from one face to the next. “I’m aware that this is a critical mission and the fate of the galaxy hangs in the balance, but I do have one request. Get Jannah out.”

Finn jolts. “Jannah? She’s your ‘someone on the inside’?”

“Yes,” Lando confirms. “My last communication with her was almost four standard weeks ago, when she told me about the influx of offworlders and their strange ships moving around the Y’Toub system. She hasn’t made contact since. I fear that something might have happened to her.”

“We’ll find her, Lando,” Poe promises. “You have our word.”

“Good.” Rey hadn’t noticed that Lando had been tense underneath all his finery until he finally relaxes. “Now—let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Ben echoes, confused.

“You’re going to a _party,”_ Lando reminds him. Reminds all of them, really. “Can’t have you showing up at Durga’s palace looking like… well.” He waves a dismissive hand over their outfits. “They’d laugh you out the door. Come on.”

Lando sweeps out of the mausoleum, leaving everyone else with no choice but to follow. Ben and Rey bring up the rear, fingers still tangled together. “Let me guess,” she quips as they trail behind the group, through the darkness and the graves, “you’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I can’t make a categorical statement like that yet.” Ben ducks low to murmur his next words in her ear. “Not until I see what you’ll be wearing.”

Rey almost _gasps._ “Ben! You—” She giggles—“nerfherder!”

“Ahem. We can _hear_ you, you know,” Poe calls out peevishly from up ahead, to Rey’s great mortification. “This is a _very_ quiet district.”

“Stars help us,” Lando adds with a groan, “they’re as bad at flirting as his parents were.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolute beast of a chapter because I was so inspired by all the feedback on the previous one. How could I have forgotten the sweet productive bliss elicited by the rush of pure _serotonin_ that IKG readers inject into my veins!!!

“No.” Rose shakes her head the instant Rey emerges from one of a handful of partitioned stalls in the fitting room. “You can’t wear that.”

Rey glances down at herself. At the long-sleeved beige dress that she’d haphazardly plucked from the assortment of racks. She lifts the trailing skirt by the few inches necessary to reveal the toes of her worn brown boots. “I suppose it’s a bit difficult to walk in.”

“Rey.” Rose’s lips purse in exasperation. “Do you remember the Caretakers on Ahch-To? The Lanai?”

“Yes.”

“Finn and I met them while we were surveying possible bases for the stormtrooper rehabilitation program.” Rose shoots Rey a hard glare. “You look like one of them right now.”

“But it has _ribbons,”_ Rey says earnestly, gesturing at the lilac bows tacked to the waistline and hem of her garment.

“Yeah, as an afterthought.” Rose shoos her back into the stall. “It’s frumpy. Go try on something else.”

Rey grumbles under her breath as she retreats. Storming Durga the Hutt’s palace all by herself would have been so much more preferable to… _this._

After leaving the Undercity on Lando’s vintage Ubrikkian Industries PL-90 airspeeder, the team had found a small clothing store just off Coronet Boulevard in Nar Shaddaa’s Corellian Sector that is run entirely by droids. It’s easy to confound droids and wipe the relevant memories with a few painless tweaks to their programming, so Lando’s currently enjoying a drink in the lounge while the others shop. The sign over the locked entrance reads _CLOSED_ in Aurebesh.

Rey and Rose have been in the otherwise deserted ladies’ fitting room for over half an hour. Rose is no stranger to dressing up; being in charge of the galaxy sometimes requires meeting dignitaries and attending formal events, and she’d picked out her dress within minutes. It’s Rey who’s having a hard time. She’d spent the first nineteen years of her life in scavenger’s rags, then the next two in a variety of cleaner but no less practical tunics and leggings. She doesn’t know a _thing_ about fancy clothes, and she’s keenly aware that it shows in her selections.

At least Rose doesn’t judge her too harshly for it, sticking only to her opinions on the outfits themselves and making sure to explain why each one isn’t up to par.

“The trick,” Rose calls from beyond the closed stall door as Rey mulls over the heap of stuff that she’d brought in from the racks, “is to appear presentable and to blend in, so that no one will question what you’re doing there or suspect that you’re not from around these parts. Hutt Space fashion is flashy, but not too elegant. They favor daring cuts and striking materials.”

Rey snickers. “When did _you_ become such an expert in style?”

“It’s not hard to learn a thing or two after spending a year being advised that I should go and change when I arrive on planets like Cato Neimoidia.” Rose’s tone is sour as she names the wealthiest and most modernized of the Quellor sector’s purse-worlds. “Also, based on my experience, you can gather intel more efficiently if you look like you belong.”

“Noted.” Rey picks up a short dress… bodysuit… _thing_ that seems as though it might stand a chance of meeting Rose’s criteria. She puts it on, telekinetically zipping up the fastening on the back because there’s no way she’s going to even _try_ to figure out how to do that manually, then she exits the stall. “What do you think?”

Rose studies her intently from where she’s perched on the couch in the middle of the fitting room. The garment that she’d chosen for herself is piled on her lap, glittering faintly in the light of the glow-panels on the ceiling and in the walls. “Hmm, it’s _certainly_ flashy,” she concedes after a while. “It just might work.”

Rey sighs in relief. Her suffering is at an end. And what she has to show for it is a skintight, strapless top covered in red sequins that bares her shoulders and a fair bit of her cleavage—not that there’s much to bare in _that_ department in the first place—and it’s sewn to a pair of shiny gold shorts ending several inches above her knees. It’s a far cry from the first outfit that she would have selected to wear to a party, but she supposes that the whole point is that she won’t be going there as herself.

She’s just about to head back to the stall and change into her original clothes so that she and Rose can bring their bedazzled confections to the till, but Finn, Poe, and Ben choose that exact moment to stroll into the ladies’ fitting room, cloth bags embossed with the shop’s logo dangling from their hands.

“You guys have been in here forever,” Poe complains. He spares a cursory glance at Rey. “That’ll do. Let’s get a move on.”

“No.”

Everyone turns to the source of that terse, monosyllabic pronouncement. Ben is frozen where he stands and he’s staring directly at Rey, his lips drawn into a harsh line. The expression on his pale face is stern and inscrutable all at once.

“‘No’?” Finn echoes, confused. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“She can’t wear that,” Ben clarifies to the room at large. To Rey, he says in a softer but still completely unmalleable tone, “Pick out something else.”

“But this is already the seventh dress I’ve tried,” she protests.

He scoffs. “That _hardly_ counts as a dress.”

Rey’s fed up with putting things on only to take them off and repeat the whole process in an infinite loop. She’s also a bit hungry as they haven’t eaten since making planetfall—and, in addition to that, she is _significantly_ more self-conscious now that Ben’s here. Now that he’s seeing her in the type of outfit that she’s never worn before. All of these things combine into a miasma of annoyance that tempts her to snap at him.

But she bites her tongue. “I don’t know what is or what isn’t a dress,” she explains with quiet dignity. “It’s not as though I’ve had much opportunity to learn what’s fashionable and what’s not. Point taken, though—I’ll look for something else.”

As she turns, she glimpses something slowly dawning on Rose’s face—some understanding—about what, Rey doesn’t know, but she’s too preoccupied to dwell on it for long. Once the door of the stall closes behind her, affording her privacy, she lets herself seethe with a crankiness that is visible only to her reflection in the mirror.

“‘That _hardly_ counts as a dress,’” Rey mouths as she wrestles off the offending red-and-gold garment and squeezes into another one. Stars, she’d forgotten how much of a snob Ben could be. It had been one of the many things that made her grit her teeth back when he still assumed the mantle of Kylo Ren. Apparently, neither death nor resurrection had been sufficient to dissuade him from the habit.

While she’s changing, she hears her friends’ muttered voices coming from the waiting area, followed by footsteps walking away and the entrance of the fitting room hissing open, then shut again. Wondering why it sounds like Finn and Rose and Poe had decided to leave, she straightens up, her hands falling to her sides, and assesses her reflection.

_This_ dress reminds her of seafoam. It curls and froths around her hips in soft gossamer clouds of turquoise and emerald and muted bluish gray; it cascades like water all the way down to her ankles. The bodice is all but nonexistent, consisting solely of narrow streams of the same hazy, pearlescent material as the skirt, winding down her torso in erratic paths. Her breasts are covered but barely, the fabric molding to them with the precision of the nanotechnology that Rose had mentioned was woven into high-end gowns such as these.

Rey thinks that she looks quite nice. Like she’s wearing the ocean, her body rising up from spring-lit waves. There’s a jauntiness to her step as she makes her way out of the stall.

Ben is the only person left in the waiting area. He’s slumped down on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, his long legs sprawled in front of him. A muscle ticks along the sharp line of his jaw when he sees her. His gaze lingers on her bodice.

“Not that one either,” he says quickly, punctuating the statement with a shake of his head.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rey cries, affronted beyond belief.

“Just—” He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Wear something else, will you?”

She stomps back into the stall, kicking up ripples of beautiful gossamer with every movement. While she may have been irritated before, she’s close to outright _fuming_ now.

The next dress from the steadily decreasing pile of garments that she has yet to try on is white. Rey thinks that it’s a safe, logical choice. Ben likes her in white; she senses pleased little bursts from his energy signature whenever she’s in those white clothes that she’d worn in the final days of the war.

Of course, she would never have been able to fight in _this_ outfit—it’s nothing more than an intricate assemblage of pleated sections of thick, snowy fabric that cling to her form like second skin and end in a series of parabolas of unyielding ruffles halfway up her thighs. As if to compensate for the fact that it shields her entire neck all the way down to her chest from view, the cutaway panels expose her ribs, her navel, the curve of her right hip, and her spine.

“Not a chance,” Ben says as soon as she reappears in his line of sight. She doesn’t even have both feet out of the stall yet. His end of the bond radiates with a tension that she feels to the very marrow of her bones but can’t pinpoint the source of as he swallows and looks away from her. “Don’t those rust buckets up front stock anything _decent?”_

Rey opens her mouth to tell him off, but then she—stops. Mild panic grips at her heart. They can’t fight, they’ve only just found each other again. They’re supposed to never fight anymore.

She walks over to him and touches his hand. “Leave those poor droids alone,” she says in a gently chiding tone that’s easy to summon given her resolve to maintain the peace. “I’m the one who decided which clothes to fit and I’ve never even worn a dress until today, so I guess it’s no surprise that everything I’ve picked is abysmal—”

Ben flinches. “Rey, that’s not what I—”

“It’s all right,” she tells him quietly. Her fingers encircle his wrist and she tugs him into the stall. “Why don’t you choose something for me, then?”

He studies the various fabrics strewn around before his brown eyes inexorably drift back to her. She pastes on a smile that, while not insincere, feels strangely brittle at the edges as she thinks about how silly she must have looked, parading about in ensembles that she’d thought were nice but turned out to not be of _decent_ quality, after all.

There is a raw, bewildered desperation to Ben’s gaze. Like he’s sorry about something, but also like he’s seeing her for the first time. Before she can ask him what’s wrong, he grabs the frumpy beige dress that Rose had said made her look like an Ahch-To Caretaker.

“This,” he says stiffly, holding it out to her while avoiding her gaze, “is the kind of thing I would want you to wear to any sort of celebration in lawless Hutt territory where all manner of sleazy criminals who don’t respect women will be in attendance.”

Rey’s lips part in a soundless gasp as it _clicks._ As it dawns on her what the key difference between this beige dress and all the others he’d vetoed is. In hindsight, it’s sort of embarrassing that it had taken her this long to figure it out.

_This_ dress is shapeless. It covers everything up from her neck to her toes.

The tips of Ben’s ears have turned bright red. He continues speaking, still in that strained tone, still not meeting her eyes. “However, I realize now that I was being an ass. You look gorgeous in anything. You should wear what you want—whatever makes you feel comfortable. And I know you can handle yourself if anyone gets too fresh.” He clears his throat. “If that happens, I ask only that you let me get a punch in on the bastard here and there.”

“You,” Rey breathes, her smile now so wide and genuine that it threatens to split her face, “great big idiot, Ben Solo!”

She flings herself into his arms and kisses him soundly on the lips. The beige dress slips from his grasp, forgotten as she crowds him up against the wall, and she’s still wearing the short white number, those pleated coils that leave very little to the imagination, and those large hands of his make her feel so small indeed as they roam with unerring precision over the parts of her that are exposed by the garment’s cut. Her back, her sides, her right hip, her navel. One hand disappears under her skirt to palm her ass and her thighs. It feels like he’s already mapped her out in his head, like he’d already decided several minutes ago what he wants to explore first.

Ben’s such a… a _guy,_ and Rey can’t stop smiling even as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his tongue rolling underneath the roof of her mouth.

☾✩☽

Several minutes later, Ben staggers out of the fitting room with a dazed expression that he tries to hide, but it had been a losing battle ever since Rey moaned softly against his lips when he cupped her butt under her tiny white skirt.

Her friends regard him skeptically.

“You’re to go back inside and help Rey choose an outfit,” he tells Rose. “I’ve been banished.”

Rose smirks in much the same manner that she had when she shepherded Finn and Poe out of the fitting room and left Ben alone with Rey. She elbows past him in a way that is somehow more playful than outright rude. “Well, it’s nothing that you don’t deserve.”

Leaving Finn and Poe to their own devices, Ben goes to find Lando on feet that barely feel like they’re touching the ground. Minus the fitting rooms, the shop can’t be more than a hundred square meters across, although he has to navigate a cramped maze of clothes racks to actually get from one end to the other and he nearly trips over BB-8 in the process as the rotund astromech droid seems to be doing a bit of exploring on his own. Ben’s honorary uncle is ensconced in a curving, highbacked chair set a little further away from the displays, sipping on a violently green cocktail garnished with a sprig of dusty-looking herbs.

“Dagobah Slug Slinger,” Lando explains when Ben sits across from him at the glass-topped table and eyes the drink with suspicion. “Made with premier slime extracted from those noble swamp-dwelling gastropods on the eponymous planet.” He chuckles at Ben’s grimace. “I’d forgotten what a picky eater you were! Drove Beex nuts. Do you remember Beex?”

Ben nods slowly. “BX-778. My—my parents’ class 3 culinary septic droid.”

“He took care of you when Leia was busy with Senate affairs and Han was offworld,” Lando reminisces. “He was programmed to be able to cook over fifteen thousand different styles of cuisine but you’d only deign to eat ten of those, give or take.”

A slight smile tugs at Ben’s lips. “I liked caf, though. Beex made a lot of that.”

“He sure did. He made it _obsessively._ I think he had a couple of screws loose, to tell you the truth, but he was a good droid, for all that.”

“I—” Ben stops. He doesn’t even know what he’d been about to say. He is a child again, running around the apartment on Chandrila, the smell of caf floating through the air as he waits for someone— _anyone—_ to come home.

Lando is skilled at reading people, at directing the flow of conversation to suit his own needs. Or, in this case, perhaps his and Ben’s needs are the same—before they can sink into an awkward silence overlain with the bittersweet heartache of the past that will be difficult to recover from, he beckons one of the droid shopkeepers over and orders a drink for Ben. Something called Breath of Heaven.

“Rice wine with some ice melon liqueur and a dash of forest-honey for sweetness,” Lando explains to Ben once the droid has vanished into a back room. “You’ll like it. Packs some punch, but not so much that you’ll be totally sauced. Can’t risk your girlfriend getting mad at me.”

Ben’s once again at a loss for words, even as he feels his face heating up. Lando winks at him. “Rey and I aren’t that well-acquainted, but she seems like a nice girl,” the older man muses. “I met her on Pasaana, then we chatted once or twice after Exegol. All those times, she always seemed a bit— _sad,_ about something. It’s a very pleasant surprise to learn that _that_ something was you all along.”

“We have a connection,” Ben mumbles.

“Yes, yes, I know all about that.” Lando’s drink sloshes within its glass as he waves his hand with the dismissiveness of an old con who’s seen all of what life has to offer. “Young love is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

“No, I mean—in the Force—” It is a monumental task, searching for the right sequence of words that can encapsulate what Rey means to him. What the bond means to him. “She and I are—that is, the proper term is—a dyad. We’re in each other’s heads. We’re stronger together. And it’s like…”

Ben trails off. There’s a part of him that’s worried that he’s going to end up sounding like a sap, but it’s eclipsed by the part that needs his Uncle Lando to understand. In his first life, he’d never gotten the chance to talk about Rey to someone who’d known him when he was still Ben Solo and not Kylo Ren. Someone who had loved him before she did. He has that chance now, and this, too, is a gift.

“I felt alone for a long time. Almost for as long as I could remember,” Ben finally says. “It was like there was a piece of me that was missing and there was a constant dull ache where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t anything I could have explained, had anyone asked. But there was a general sense of… having nowhere to belong. And that was what led me to—my choices.” The words thicken on his tongue but Lando’s expression is solemn and attentive, encouraging him to soldier on. “Rey and I met under… adversarial circumstances.” _You know I can take whatever I want._ “Initially, I was fascinated. I had found my equal in battle, someone who walked with the Force as I did.” _You need a teacher._ “But then I—we got to know each other a little more—” _You’re not doing this, the effort would kill you—_ “and it was though a hand—her hand—had reached out across all the lonely years. To hold mine.” _You’re not alone._

Ben ducks his head, somewhat mortified by the depth of his own emotions. Lando is silent, eyeing him thoughtfully. The droid shopkeeper returns with a tall glass of something icy and clear, almost luminescent, and Ben immediately knocks back a huge gulp of it.

The drink is good. It’s arctic, with the faintest hint of sweetness. It warms rather than burns his throat, and it’s just what he needs after laying his soul bare.

Lando speaks only when the shopkeeper has trundled out of earshot. “I’m no expert in this—mumbo-jumbo, as your father would say—” He grins ruefully and for a brief flash of an instant there is pain, there is a scar between them in the shape of Han—“but from what little I’ve seen of you and Rey together, you make each other happy. I do not believe that rests solely on some mystical connection. The two of you wouldn’t be all giddy and flirty if it did.”

“I am not _giddy,”_ Ben protests, aghast.

Lando hides a smirk behind the rim of his glass. “You are, kid. Accept it.”

Ben is seized by the urge to tell Lando something else—something that he’d noticed at the beginning but got pushed to the wayside, swept up as he was by the rush of events of the past two weeks. Rey _isn’t_ happy. Not completely. A year ago she would have given him hell for being as high-handed and insufferable as he’d been in the fitting room. She has lost _something,_ and she wasted away on Tatooine in the process.

But before he can say a word, Lando’s talking again. “So. The Corellian Sector.” He raises his cocktail as if in toast to the patches of neon-lit street beyond the store windows that are visible through the clothes racks which, in turn, obscure them from view of any shrewd, alert eyes. “Han kept an apartment here that he abandoned when he joined the Rebel Alliance. He ventured back some time later with your mother in tow, hoping to retrieve a stash of power couplings, but an old buddy of his had sold him out to two bounty hunters—”

“—and there was a firefight inside the apartment, followed by a riveting chase through the streets of Nar Shaddaa,” Ben supplies. The line of his mouth twitches with wry humor the way it always does when he imagines such a scene. Leia would have kept on yelling at Han for getting them into this mess while Han would have been the consummate henpecked husband, dodging blasters and placating an irate wife at the same time—or, more accurately, knowing him, making her even angrier and angrier with his own harried responses.

Lando’s eyes twinkle. “So they _did_ tell you that story. I wasn’t sure. You know, Ben, I—” He turns somber—“ever since… before, I’ve been of the opinion that Han, Luke, and Leia should have told you a whole lot more than they actually did. I think it would have—helped. Because, in the end, those are your stories, too.”

Ben’s next swig from his glass drains it to half of the original volume that it had contained. “I doubt anything could have helped at that point. I don’t know. I was in too deep.”

They finish their drinks quietly, lost in their own thoughts. It had been foolish and selfish to hope that there were going to be no aspects of this interaction that hurt. Lando is very much part of a past that has to be confronted, day in and day out, so that it can finally be made sense of. So that it won’t turn out to have all been for nothing.

☾✩☽

The mission team spends the night at Lando’s safe house in the Red Light Sector. After an oily and satisfying meal of ginger noodles and chili dumplings delivered by a hard-faced Ilosian wearing a grease-spattered apron, they camp out in the living room and Rey falls asleep on the couch with Ben’s arms wrapped around her and his gentle snores rumbling in her ear. He was out like a light the second his head hit the pillow, reeking faintly of alcohol, and Rey had shot a very piercing glare at Lando, who guffawed and retreated to the safety of his bedroom.

The next day, three hours before they have to leave if they’re to arrive fashionably late to the party on Nal Hutta, Lando summons a troop of courtesans from the nearby brothel to style them. The women come in a variety of species, all beautiful and charming and paid generously for their discretion. A couple of them work on Rey and Rose in the bedroom while the rest handle Ben and Finn and Poe out in the living room, and Rey tries to quell the unease that flutters in the pit of her stomach every time a sultry feminine giggle rings out from beyond the closed door. She’s tempted to activate the bond on more than one occasion, to remind Ben… to remind him of _what,_ she’s not exactly sure—maybe just that she’s still here.

Thankfully, she abstains. There’s more than enough to distract her as the courtesan tugs and twists at her freshly washed hair and applies all manner of strange paints and powders to her face. An eternity passes before the two impromptu stylists proclaim that they’re done and swan gracefully out of the bedroom in a rush of silks and sweet floral scents.

Rey and Rose peer at each other self-consciously.

Rose’s jet-black hair has been left loose to fall past her bare shoulders in a sleek, shiny curtain. Her lips are glossed pink and an array of silver star-shaped gems is glued to one side of her face in a pretty, swirling pattern. Her gown resembles the night sky, hundreds of tiny, sparkling sequins sewn into the midnight blue fabric that molds itself to her body in an hourglass shape.

“You look amazing,” Rey gushes.

“Thanks.” Rose rummages through her rucksack that she’d left on the floor, extracting a datadagger that she then hikes up her starry skirt in order to strap to her thigh. “So do you. I can’t wait to see the look on Ben’s face when you go out there.”

Rey blushes, sneaking another glance at her reflection in Lando’s full-length mirror. The courtesan had done something to her hair—sort of gathered sections of it and tucked one into the other and coiled the entire thing at the back of her neck, securing it in place with gold dragon-shaped pins. The dress that Rose had eventually picked out for her is short and black and structured, with long sleeves and a plunging, V-shaped neckline. It’s cinched at the waist with a simple gold chain and the outfit is capped off by fingerless black gloves and a matching pair of boots. Her eyes are lined with a thick, sooty substance that had been expertly flicked up toward her temples and her lips are as red as blood.

She doesn’t look like herself. Wearing black reminds her of the vision she’d had in the ruins of the Death Star. Kylo Ren had been waiting for her when she emerged from that secret chamber with her heart still beating through echoes of darkness, and it’s Ben Solo who’s waiting for her now, out in the living room of his uncle’s flat. Apprehension ripples through her as she wonders what he will think.

Taking a cue from Rose, Rey goes over to where her own pack has been dropped onto a side table and retrieves her lightsaber as well as another purchase from the little shop off Coronet Boulevard—a thigh holster, sewn from gauzy, almost sheer material. Rose’s datadagger is an ivory code cylinder with a needle-sharp blade hidden in the plug-in socket, carefully nestled among so many delicate electronics that it’s virtually undetectable using standard weapons scans. Rey’s lightsaber affords no such concealability, hence the thigh holster; it’s made from baffleweave, which is thin, flexible, and lightweight—and naturally sensor-jamming.

“You ready, Kira?” Rose asks after Rey has attached the holster and slipped the hilt of her lightsaber into it, then draped her black skirt down over the whole affair.

Rey offers a mock salute. “Lead the way, Asori.”

Those are their personas for the night—Kira Fel from the Hutt Space trade world and clearinghouse Hollastin, the bounty hunter Asori Zih from Nar Bo Sholla, birthplace of assassins. Ben is Matias Straden, a businessman looking to expand into the nearby Tol Amn system, while Finn is a minor noble from Dennogra named Jorund Ruellis.

As the getaway pilot, Poe has no need for a fake identity, but he’d insisted on shopping for a party outfit as well. Indeed, when Rey and Rose enter the living room, he’s wearing emerald silk trousers and a gold-embellished cream tunic with a neckline even deeper than Rey’s. There’s a sparkling sash tied around his hips.

Finn’s lips and eyebrows have been dusted with a bright, metallic pigment. His bodysuit is an intricate construction of satiny rich purple material and transparent silver mesh that shows off the rippling muscles of his well-maintained physique. An ornately woven one-sided cape flows off his shoulder, affixed with a silver-and-ruby brooch that Rey knows is a comlink in disguise. He and Rose point at each other in their fancy outfits and cackle uproariously.

And as for Ben…

Rey’s jaw drops.

Ben— _her_ Ben—is hardly dressed in _anything._ Black leather trousers are slung low on his hips, held up by suspenders that expose his sculpted torso. Practically _all_ of his sculpted torso, because that wide obsidian collar covering the base of his throat _certainly_ doesn’t do much in the way of hiding his chest, which has been artfully decorated with swirls of body glitter. Attached to the collar is a long black cape embossed with gold celestial patterns, but it’s really more of an _afterthought,_ isn’t it, because the whole damn universe can see his pecs and his abdominal muscles—

“He can’t wear that!” Rey says shrilly.

Everyone turns to look at her. Ben blinks, confused. His hair is fluffy and coiffed, close to the way it had been when they first met, and the courtesans have connected every mole and freckle on his face with a delicate webbing of shimmery gold pigment and painted a broad stripe of it down the middle of his lips.

_The courtesans._ Those women have long since left the flat, but Rey’s blood boils as she thinks about their smooth, perfumed hands traveling over Ben’s features and his chest, painting on the glitter. She remembers the giggles she’d heard while in the bedroom and her fists clench at her sides. How many more of that sort of beautiful, sensual woman will be at the party, how many more will see Ben like—like _this—_

“Well, he can’t change _now,”_ Finn says. “Lando’s waiting outside in the speeder. We have to go.”

The team files out of the safe house, Ben and Rey bringing up the rear. She grabs his arm as they step over the threshold, clinging to it, refusing to let go even as they walk. “Don’t you have a shirt you can put on?” she hisses.

Understanding dawns on Ben’s face like a swift sunrise. He has the gall to smirk before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Infuriating man.

☾✩☽

Ben spends the ride to Mezenti Spaceport and the sublight crawl away from Nar Shaddaa basking in the possessiveness that emanates from Rey in waves. Of course, he doesn’t actually want her to stab him again, so he makes sure to hold her hand and sneak in kisses to the tip of her scrunched-up nose. Finn, Poe, and Rose notice, but for once they seem more amused than awkward about it.

They can’t take a ship as infamous in Hutt Space as the _Millennium Falcon_ to Nal Hutta, so Lando has lent them the little-used _Punworcca 116-_ class interstellar sloop that he keeps on the Smuggler’s Moon. He and BB-8 are currently flying the _Falcon_ to Naboo, which they’ve decided is as good a planet to rendezvous on as any after both Jannah and the information that they need are successfully extracted.

True to his word that he really can pilot anything, Poe steers the yacht into a smooth cruise on tachyon streams and solar winds. In the distance, Nal Hutta is a huge orange orb speckled green, glowing in the light of the Ganath Cloud, a vast, intensely radioactive mist at the fringes of the Y’Toub system.

As they draw nearer, another ship comes into view, rising up from behind the planet. Its trajectory takes it in the direction of the sloop and Poe veers to the right—to avoid a collision as much as to get a better look.

The lengthy, bewildered silence that falls over the cockpit is broken by Rose. “What _is_ that?” Her tone is hushed. Nervous. _“Who_ is in that?”

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” says Poe. “I don’t recognize the make.”

“Same here,” Finn and Rey chorus.

“Can you run a scan?” Rose asks Poe.

Poe fiddles with the controls for a moment, then shakes his head. “Scan’s coming up negative. Whatever this is, it’s not in the databank.”

“I think this is one of those strange ships that Jannah told Lando about,” Finn mutters.

Everyone’s gaze is glued to the viewport, beyond which the unidentifiable vessel floats starkly amidst the icy stars of black-velvet space. It’s clearly a capital ship of some kind, as big as the Death Star had been. It is shaped like a disc, bordered at the edges by jagged spiral arms that make it look like a miniature galaxy.

And it is not made of metal. Instead, the hull seems to have been carved out of a type of roughly hewn, porous rock that is a pale gray color. Ben’s skin crawls at the sight of it.

“Ben,” Rey says in a low voice, “for some reason, I’m not able to tell approximately how many passengers are onboard. But I can detect… sentience. Some enormous, amorphous sentience. Can you give it a shot?”

Ben complies. He extends his perception to encompass the ship beside theirs. The ship that is worlds larger than theirs is.

Souls move as light through the Force, which connects all living things. It’s usually easy for a trained Force user to get a general sense of how many of those lights are clustered within the boundaries of a specific area, but here and now there is— _nothing._ Just a dark void where the souls should be.

And yet…

And yet there are threads of light binding the vessel together. Running through it. All of them combining into something that can move as one, can breathe as one. Something with a purpose as sharp as the edge of a knife.

Ben draws back, shaking.

“It’s almost like you’re sensing the ship itself,” Rey whispers. “It’s almost like it’s… _alive.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ubrikkian Industries PL-90 luxury speeder](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/PL-90_luxury_speeder).
> 
> [Coronet Boulevard](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Coronet_Boulevard) in the [Corellian Sector](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Corellian_Sector_\(Nar_Shaddaa\)/Legends).
> 
> [Dagobah Slug Slinger](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dagobah_Slug_Slinger).
> 
> [Breath of Heaven](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Breath_of_Heaven).
> 
> [Ice melon](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ice_melon).
> 
> [Forest-honey](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Forest-honey).
> 
> [Datadagger](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Datadagger).
> 
> [Baffleweave](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Baffleweave).
> 
> [BX-778](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/BX-778).
> 
> [Punworcca 116-class interstellar sloop](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Punworcca_116-class_interstellar_sloop).
> 
> [Ganath Cloud](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ganath_Cloud/Legends).
> 
> [Hollastin](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hollastin).
> 
> [Nar Bo Sholla](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nar_Bo_Sholla).
> 
> [Tol Amn system](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tol_Amn_system).
> 
> [Dennogra](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dennogra/Legends).
> 
> Most of the dresses that Rey tried on—as well as the inspiration for the dress that she eventually wore—are in [this Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/kylorenvevo/status/1334869207633121280). Thank you to everyone who chipped in with all those wonderful ideas!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: The Hutts canonically keep slaves and this chapter does not gloss over that.

The team is in a somber mood when they reach Durga’s palace grounds on Nal Hutta. The sight of the strange vessel had rattled them. It does nothing to alleviate the tension that they already feel at having to infiltrate the most notorious kajidic in the Outer Rim.

Poe is uncharacteristically silent as he eases the borrowed solar sailer onto the vast landing grid. There are dozens of ships already docked, in an assortment of various makes from all corners of the galaxy. The two things that every single one has in common are these: they look _fast,_ and they’re quite obviously armed to the teeth, in a way that most private starships are not.

These are the conveyances of people that have things to hide.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Poe tells the others before they disembark. “If you need to make a quick getaway, try to head up to that eastern tower.”

They assure him that they will. When Ben glances over his shoulder as he’s walking off the landing grid with Rey and Finn and Rose, it’s to find Poe standing in the open doorway of the yacht’s main hull with his hands on his hips, staring after them with a frown uncannily similar to that of a worried parent.

Ben has more pressing matters to be concerned with than Dameron, though. Anxiety has been coiling through the pit of his stomach in tight threads ever since he saw the living ship and it hit him just how deep the hole he’d dug himself into is. He’d been able to push it aside for a while, wrapped up in Rey’s sweet kisses and the sheer joy of being with her again, but it is now something that he can no longer ignore.

He won’t be able to lie his way out of it. He is not that good of an actor, and there is the bond. Rey will find out sooner rather than later. Once she does, there might be no coming back from it.

“This was always your problem, kid,” Luke sighs as he walks with them, unseen by all except his nephew. “You never think things through.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Leia chides from Ben’s left. “I seem to recall a certain upstart young Jedi abandoning his training so that he could rescue his friends who were quite clearly bait in a trap that had been set for him.” Luke rolls his eyes, but Leia persists. “He’s like you. He thinks with his heart.”

“Still. He should come clean to Rey. Letting it go on for even a second longer at this point won’t do him any favors.”

Ben’s jaw clenches. He puts up his walls, banishing the ghosts. It is a subtle exercise of Force ability and thankfully Rey doesn’t notice—she’s talking to Finn and Rose, the three of them running through their cover stories for what has to be the hundredth time, it feels like.

There is no margin for error, particularly if they have to interact with Durga for an extended period of time. The Hutts are cunning and ruthless, and they are notoriously difficult to influence with mind tricks.

Nal Hutta is basically one giant bog. If there is a region of the planet that _isn’t_ covered in humid swampland, Ben hadn’t seen it while they’d flown over. The light falling from the polluted sky is faintly greenish and the air smells like sewage. The path connecting the landing grid to the main building is crusted with mud, surrounded by endless pools of brown water that ripple with slithering lifeforms and patches of scraggly gray foliage around which buzz clouds of tiny insects.

The capital world of Hutt Space is just as depressing as its moon, but perhaps that’s relative. If Ben were a slug he would probably enjoy living here, amidst all this muck. The Hutts had named it _Glorious Jewel_ in their language, after all.

Durga’s palace subscribes to the typical architecture that most _kajidii_ prefer. A squat rotunda carved from durasteel and flood basalt rises up from the marsh like a colossal and particularly sullen paddy frog, topped with a ditanium-reinforced dome-shaped roof and circled by tall, blocky towers. The portcullis is wide open, revealing a cavernous entrance patrolled by several armor-clad Gamorreans wielding heavy blasters.

“Showtime,” Finn mutters. He and Rose and Ben and Rey march forward, presenting their invitations. The guards ask for ID and are thorough, but Lando’s forged documents are airtight. The sensors don’t detect any of their expertly shrouded weapons. The Gamorrean contingent waves them through and they step into a long, dark hallway, following the lit torches deeper and deeper into the crime lord’s stronghold.

Finn and Rose link arms, effortlessly slipping into the personas of bounty hunter and aristocratic plus-one. Rey looks at Ben through her lashes, a slight smile curving at the edge of her mouth, and she is so shy and hopeful as she waits for him to hold her that it’s like a knife has been slipped between his ribs and left there to bleed him out.

Her expression turns quizzical after a few seconds have passed of him unable to do anything but keep on walking by her side. “Ben?”

He stops. “Sorry.” _I’m really sorry, sweetheart. For all of it._ “I was just thinking.”

He loops one arm around her slim waist, pulling her closer. She leans slightly into him as they continue walking, projecting her contentment through the Force. A chill grips Ben’s heart as the fear strikes him that this could very well be the last time Rey lets him touch her like this.

Once she finds out—

A veritable wall of different sensations slams into him when they stride into the ballroom. First there is color—vivid silks, gaudy cosmetics, and sparkling jewels adorning scales and feathers and skin in all hues. Teeth flashing white. Neon liquid sloshing into crystal-clear glasses.

Then there is noise—people laughing, yelling, and chatting in various languages, the most predominant of which is Huttese. A band playing sparkle-bop tunes on a platform in one corner. Bells tinkling around the ankles of Twi’lek slave girls as they dance to the rhythm.

There is smell, too. Roasted meat, sweat, a miasma of scented oils and perfumes. Spice, Marcan herbs, tabac. There is no need to hide contraband here and Ben catches whiffs of smoked substances considerably more potent than spice. He also glimpses lines of powders being spread on the tables in the booths off to the side of the dance floor.

_No party like a Hutt party,_ Ben remembers more than a few First Order officers sneering. They had turned a blind eye to the Cartel; there wasn’t much need to worry about those whose cooperation could be bought.

Rose hails a passing server droid and plucks four flutes of Daruvvian champagne from the proffered tray, disseminating three to the rest of the team. “Durga’s closest advisors,” she whispers as they take sips, nodding subtly to a plum-skinned Sakiyan standing near the band and then to a stocky Ozrelanso on the opposite end of the ballroom. “Hooge Krannurak and Celtru Wes. They know everything that happens inside the palace and within the Y’Toub system in general. We’ll work them in pairs. Finn and I will find out where Jannah is. Ben, Rey—your job is to learn all that you can about that strange ship. We leave as soon as we have Jannah. Got it?”

Everyone else nods. Rose takes another fortifying swig of champagne. When she lowers her glass, her expression is breezy and vaguely amused. Just another guest having a good time at the party.

“Come along, Lord Ruellis,” she says in a much louder tone of voice, taking Finn’s arm. “Let us introduce ourselves to Krannurak, there are some contracts I wish to discuss with him.”

Finn’s hand spins through the air in a gallant flourish. “After you, Madame Zih.”

“Should I have been worried about how good your friends are at this?” Ben asks Rey as they watch Finn and Rose saunter toward the Sakiyan advisor. “Back when I was—before, I mean.”

“Yes,” Rey confirms with a chuckle. “You won’t believe all the ways they managed to acquire information on First Order movements. Of course, Hux was also a lot of help in that regard.”

Ben rolls his eyes. The subject of Hux’s double-crossing had come up during the trip to Nar Shaddaa; Poe had taken a great deal of pleasure in telling him all about it. “That odious weasel. I should have known it was him.”

“You really should have. You had no idea at all?”

Rey’s looking at him curiously. Ben doesn’t even know how to begin to explain that long, awful year to her. He had been angry, bitter, and heartbroken, consumed with the goal of stamping out the Resistance. He had replayed the immediate aftermath of Snoke’s death in his mind, over and over again, trying to find that one moment where Rey might have said yes and taken his hand if only he’d said something else. Done something else.

There had been little space for a person as inconsequential as Hux amidst all of that. He’d had his suspicions, he’d sensed the general’s hatred, but it never registered as important. He was used to people hating him. He was used to sensing their revulsion and their fear of what he was, of what he had become.

“Look.” Rey’s words jar him back to the present moment. Her eyes are trained on the Ozrelanso advisor, who has just had his drink refilled and is imbibing quietly, studying the crowd. “Celtru’s not talking to anyone. Now’s our chance.”

And she takes Ben’s hand the way she hadn’t two years ago. She smiles at him, that toothy smile that she’d bestowed amidst the ruins of Exegol. No revulsion, no fear.

He smiles back.

☾✩☽

Like all the males of his species, Celtru Wes sports two lekku protruding from the sides of his skull. His flesh is a muddy color that’s brightened up by his luxurious scarlet robes, and his small eyes gleam shrewdly at Ben and Rey as they come to a stop in front of him.

“Advisor Wes.” Rey inclines her head in greeting. “My name is Kira Fel. I’m from the Hollastin clearinghouse.”

“Is that so?” Celtru cocks his head, looking mildly put upon. “Your rates are somewhat astronomical this year. Lord Durga isn’t pleased.”

“I apologize,” Rey says smoothly even as her heart hammers within her chest. The team had rehearsed their cover stories on the way over, but she’s still not quite sure what it is a clearinghouse actually _does._ “We are currently having to beef up our risk protections. The Galactic Alliance is more alert now, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

Celtru waves a dismissive hand. “If both the Old and the New Republic couldn’t leash us, I see no reason to start fearing that a bunch of naïve soldiers will suddenly succeed.”

Rey is offended on behalf of her former comrades in the Resistance, but she swallows it down. “You are right as always, Advisor Wes. I shall forward your concern to my superiors.”

“See that you do.” Celtru brusquely turns away from her to face her companion. “And who’re you, then?”

Ben stares at the Ozrelanso with an expression of intense dislike. Rey gnaws at the inside of her cheek—despite all their careful planning, no one had accounted for the possibility that Ben might be _bad_ at going undercover. It is belatedly dawning on her that of _course_ he would be; he is far too direct, far too blunt. His searing, unflinching honesty had been one of the things that drew her to him from the moment they met.

She pulls him closer and not-so-accidentally stomps on his toes in a silent warning to get with the program. “It is my honor to introduce Matias Straden,” she tells Celtru brightly. “He is looking to expand his business ventures along the Oktos Route.”

“Indeed? Where along the route, exactly?” Celtru asks.

“Tol Amn.” Ben makes an effort to appear mildly congenial; he looks kind of like he’s getting his teeth pulled. “Thank you for having us. I finagled an invitation because I was informed that the Besadii kajidic would be the people to talk to about this sort of thing.”

The attempt at flattery works. Celtru draws himself up a little straighter. “Yes, we are. Our dues are competitively priced and we can connect you to all the right people. As a matter of fact, why don’t we start now?”

He leads Ben and Rey to a cluster of partygoers who also have business interests in Hutt Space. As the minutes pass, he folds other guests into their circle—guests who turn out to be Besadii “facilitators” and middlemen.

It is the most boring standard hour of Rey’s life. Stripped to the bare bones, questionable financial dealings and unethical corporate practices fly over her head just as much as the regular ones do. She resorts to drinking her champagne and stuffing her face with appetizers and nodding along.

Ben is also suffering. She can feel it in the bond. Although—she _will_ grant that as far as the conversation goes he’s holding his own remarkably well. Matias Straden has recently acquired a mining firm and he doesn’t care about breaking a few rules to ensure that it fetches him a nice quarterly profit; Ben draws upon his experience working on the Deep to reference enough specifics to the mining industry to sound convincing, and he has an acceptable familiarity with the shadier aspects of trade that he can only have picked up from Lando.

Rey glances around. Rose is at the buffet table, helping herself to the violently pink fruit punch. Rey murmurs her excuses, squeezing Ben’s arm before elbowing her way through the crowd until she’s at Rose’s side.

“Update?” Rey prompts under her breath as she ladles punch into her empty champagne flute.

“Krannurak was really forthcoming once he had a few drinks in him and His Lordship Finn started complaining about how it’s ever so difficult to find trustworthy servants these days,” Rose answers in an equally low voice, with a smirk that’s quick to fade at the edges from tension. “Jannah was doing grunt work for the kajidic, but her cover was blown. She’s in the dungeons on the palace’s underground level. Finn and I will sneak out and extract her an hour from now, when the party will hopefully be in full swing and everyone’s too intoxicated to notice. Do you have the information?”

“Not yet,” Rey admits. “We can’t get Celtru alone and it’s hard to steer the conversation accordingly. They’re talking about… business stuff. Accounting and all that.”

Rose shudders. “My sympathies.”

“We’ll work faster,” Rey promises, and they go their separate ways once more. When she returns to where Celtru is holding court, it’s to find that _somebody_ has taken her place at Ben’s side.

Her eyes narrow.

The female Zeltron is several inches taller than Rey is and infinitely curvier, with a generous bust and an impossibly narrow waist that flares into wide hips so gracefully that the overall effect is that of a delicate, leggy hourglass. Her skin is a striking fuchsia hue and her artfully tousled hair is just… waves upon waves of rich sapphire, floating around her shoulders, flowing down her back. Her sleeveless, midriff-baring bodysuit is shiny and translucent, and it clings to her form as snugly as though she’d been poured into it.

The Zeltron race is generally considered one of the most beautiful in the galaxy, and this one is no exception. She’s got a slender arm draped over Ben’s shoulders and she’s leaning against him like a lazily elegant jungle cat. He is clearly uncomfortable, but whenever he tries to put some distance between them she closes it. Her regard for his exposed chest is unabashed.

She looks at Ben like she wants to _eat_ him, and as Rey nears them it occurs to her that Ben doesn’t seem half as uncomfortable as he _could_ be.

Rey’s fingers tighten around the stem of her champagne flute.

“Ah, Madame Fel, you’re back!” gushes one of the sleazy traders whose name she has already forgotten.

“Well, it’s not like I went to Coruscant,” Rey grouses. “I just got some punch.”

A chorus of laughter rises up from the assembled guests, save for Ben. Whatever he sees on her face, it makes him swallow visibly and he once again attempts to extricate himself from the Zeltron.

“Allow me to introduce Senesha Dane,” Celtru tells Rey, gesturing at the voluptuous fuchsia limpet attached to Ben’s side. “Her family’s in construction. Senesha, this is Kira, she’s with the Hollastin clearinghouse.”

“Charmed,” Senesha purrs in a voice like warm honey. She leans away from Ben to offer Rey the hand that’s not perched on his shoulder, and Rey takes advantage of the opportunity to squeeze herself between them as she gives the dainty fuchsia hand a perfunctory shake.

“Nice to meet you,” Rey says crisply, looping her own arm around Ben’s waist.

Senesha’s blue eyes gleam in sudden understanding. She smiles like she’s stumbled upon a particularly delicious secret before she moves away, seamlessly integrating herself into another conversational huddle.

_Stop glaring at her._ Ben has the gall to sound amused from his end of the bond. _Aren’t we supposed to be pretending to network?_

_Yes, I’m sure you let her wrap around you for the good of the mission,_ Rey snipes. She has never really had the time or the inclination to compare her physical appearance to that of other women, but Senesha Dane makes her feel like—well, like a _frump._ Like as much of a frump as if she had worn that shapeless beige dress to this party, after all.

The burst of pettiness—of _possessiveness—_ leaves her winded. And utterly self-conscious. The nearby guests all seem amused by her actions, although they try to hide it by drinking and chatting.

Rey blinks away a sudden rush of—of tears? Why does she feel like crying? It’s not as though Ben _left_ her for the Zeltron.

But what they have is so new. She doesn’t know what the rules are or if there are even rules at all. She doesn’t know how to act around people, how to be out and about in the galaxy again. It’s not as though Jakku had been a thriving social hub, and she has just spent a year on Tatooine…

Ben suddenly pulls her closer against himself, burying his face in the slope of her neck. Rey lets out a startled squeak as he nips at her throat; he growls softly, muffled against her skin.

_I can’t believe you’d assume that I can even_ look at _anyone else when you’re around,_ he chides her through their mental link. Judging from his Force signature, he’s a little bit flattered, a little bit exasperated. She’s blushing by the time he lifts his head, the cool smirk of Matias Straden firmly in place as he offers the watching guests a careless shrug.

The other partygoers think nothing of this display of affection, although it does appear to validate Rey in their eyes. Time passes in music, in flickering torchlight, in more business talk. Talk that Ben and Rey cannot manipulate into revealing any sort of pertinent information about strange ships and galactic threats, despite their best efforts.

_We need to get Celtru alone,_ she tells him through the bond as she laughs at a starship dealer’s joke.

_How do you propose we do that?_ Ben inquires, knocking back the shot of mijura that a trio of bug-eyed, hairless, cephalopodic attorneys-at-law collectively styling themselves The Wavering Oeklass are encouraging him to take. He grimaces as he plunks the empty shot glass down on a nearby stone ledge. _Disgusting. That was basically steaming sludge._

Before Rey can come up with a plausible reason for absconding with one of Durga’s most trusted advisors, Durga himself enters the ballroom.

All three-point-seven meters and two thousand pounds of him.

Hutts are _massive._ They are born the size of a bean and they emerge from the brood pouch fifty standard years later, measuring a meter from head to tail. From that point onward, they grow and they grow and they grow.

The Galactic Alliance estimates that Durga Besadii Tai is a little over a hundred years old; young by the standards of his species, but ruthless enough for it to not matter. He sports a century’s worth of bulk all bound up in blubber and thick, leathery skin that sweats mucus and oil. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, orange and reptilian, protruding from a bulbous head set atop an oozing, slug-like body. He has not deigned to walk—rather, he is carried into the chamber on an enormous palanquin borne by slaves of various species, iron collars around their necks.

Rey seethes quietly. The effects of the new government’s crackdown on the slave trade have yet to be felt in Hutt Space, where there are no methods of dismantling it short of outright war with the Cartel. For now, there are secret agents such as Jessika Pava who spend their days wandering the Outer Rim, reaching out to as many of the enslaved as possible and smuggling those who wish it to freedom.

The band strikes up a regal tune in honor of Durga’s arrival. He’s not the talkative sort of _kajidii,_ there are no grand speeches. Instead, once the slaves deposit the palanquin on his preferred spot, he has food and drink brought to him and that’s when people start coming up to him as well. One by one. Discreet, low-toned discussions.

Rey tears her gaze away from the grotesque sight of Durga licking his lips as he watches the Twi’lek dancers. She looks around for Finn and Rose just in time to catch the star-studded hem of Rose’s skirt slipping out a side door.

Senesha Dane is looking in Ben’s direction again, and that’s all the impetus that Rey needs to forego telepathy in favor of curling her fingers in the soft hair at the back of his neck, coaxing him to bow his head slightly so that she can whisper in his ear. As an additional precaution, she taps into the Force to temporarily dull the perceptions of those nearby, making it unlikely that they’ll hear an incriminating word.

“Jannah will be rescued soon, and we’re nowhere near close to fulfilling our objective. We have to step it up.”

Ben’s hand slides down to her hip, squeezing once. “Right,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting against her cheek. “Tell Celtru that you need to speak to him in private about a margin payment dispute—”

“A what now?”

“—or, just be vague about some clearinghouse business,” he amends. “Once we have him alone, you can root around in his head and I’ll stand guard.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan…” Rey trails off.

Her eyes had been darting around the ballroom over Ben’s shoulder, scouting for possible alcoves or hidden corners or doorways leading to smaller rooms that she can drag the advisor into. Because of this, she is able to spot several strange partygoers that she somehow hadn’t noticed before.

They are strange because she doesn’t recognize their species.

Niima Outpost on Jakku had been a melting pot of scavengers, spacers, and exiles from a broad spectrum of worlds ranging from Core planets to the unmapped moons of Wild Space. And Rey traveled everywhere for missions as a member of the Resistance.

She has never seen anything like these beings before.

There are ten of them, keeping to themselves at the edge of the crowd with no apparent intention to mingle. They are tall and rangy, with sloping, ridged foreheads and stubs for noses and dark blue circles under their eyes. Some of them have gray skin; the others, yellow, the common denominator being a multitude of cruel scars and sweeping tattoos. Their facial features are so stark and gaunt that it’s as if the light of the torches is eating away at their muscle and their flesh, exposing the bones underneath.

In marked contrast to all the revealing, luxurious fashion on display, they are wearing heavy plated armor. But it’s not any kind of armor that Rey has seen before, either—it’s lined with long, jointed spikes that almost look like legs. In fact, the longer she stares at the strangers, the more she thinks that she can see the spikes _move._

Just a twitch here and there, but it’s enough to give off the illusion that the armor is—

_A living thing,_ she thinks. Like the ship made of rock and who knows what else.

Ben glances behind him, following her line of sight. He sees them, she knows he does, but he says nothing. His pale jaw clenches.

His end of the bond doesn’t seem all that surprised or confused—perhaps he has encountered such a race in the past. Before Rey can ask him about it, though, it dawns on her what _else_ she finds so off-putting.

She has not walked with the Force for as long as Ben has, but she’s taken certain things for granted still. Things like the ability to gauge sentient lifeforms, their thoughts, their emotions, how they travel through time and space. Her mind had instinctively patched over it at first, tried to cover it up—she is _such_ an expert in denial, after all—but there’s no more hiding from this one inescapable fact.

None of the ten scarred and skeletal partygoers have an energy signature.

Rey can’t sense them in the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Flood basalt](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Flood_basalt).
> 
> [Ditanium](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ditanium/Legends).
> 
> [Sparkle-bop](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sparkle-bop).
> 
> [Daurvvian champagne](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Daruvvian_champagne).
> 
> [Sakiyan](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sakiyan/Legends).
> 
> [Ozrelanso](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ozrelanso).
> 
> [Oktos Route](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Oktos_Route).
> 
> [Zeltron](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Zeltron/Legends).
> 
> [The Wavering Oeklass](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/The_Wavering_Oeklass).
> 
> [Mijura](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mijura).


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback and the slew of messages re: the previous chapter! Y'all keep me thriving in this never-ending community quarantine. Quite a few speculations have hit the mark, as you'll find out in this update 👀 Hope you guys like! Comments would be much appreciated!

It could be nothing.

The armored strangers could simply be new tech—or tech that’s new to Rey, at least. They could be startlingly lifelike mechanical beings powered by artificial intelligence, or incredibly solid holos transmitted by a state-of-the-art projector.

Honestly, those are the only possibilities Rey can think of that would explain their absence in the Force.

Her gaze flickers to Ben. Although she still has one hand on the back of his neck and his fingers are still curved at the jut of her hip, it is somehow the farthest they’ve ever been from each other since he returned to the world of the living.

Because his mental walls are raised high enough that she’s all but cut off from his end of the bond.

“What is it?” she asks quietly, searching the pale face above her that’s dusted with gold. “Do you know who they are? Or _what_ they are?”

There’s no need for her to elaborate. He saw for himself the cluster of guests that had caught her attention.

“No,” Ben says. “I’ve never encountered their like before.”

And it seems to her that he hesitated a little too long before answering. She remembers his lack of surprise when his eyes landed on the skeletal figures and she feels a shiver of unease that turns everything it touches inside her into ice.

The lights dim and the sparkle-bop band launches into an upbeat, rollicking tune that has partygoers flocking to the dance floor in droves. Rey tenses as one of the strangers immediately approaches her and Ben’s group as if he had only been waiting for such a distraction to take place before doing so. He walks with none of the stiffness associated with most automatons and as he draws near she can see that he is breathing, disproving her previous hypothesis.

“Ah, Executor Anor.” Celtru Wes inclines his head in greeting as soon as he notices the stranger, who stops inches away from Rey and Ben. “Allow me to introduce you to everyone.”

As he rattles off the names of the business associates and middlemen huddled around him, Durga’s advisor appears to have lost much of his usual pomp. Rey can scan _his_ energy signature with no problem; he is nervous.

She tries not to be so obvious about the fact that she’s staring at the man called Anor. Up close he is gaunt and thin-lipped, with a broken nose and an intricate pattern tattooed on his forehead. He has so many scars that he almost seems patched together. His right eye is an icy blue color and the left is as black as night, like it’s mostly pupil, and…

And it doesn’t look like _his_ eye at all. The more Rey focuses, the more she’s certain that it moves as though it’s separate from Anor’s body, twitching of its own accord in the same way that his obsidian armor does here and there, under his pale brown cloak.

Celtru saves Rey and Ben—or, rather, Kira Fel and Matias Straden—for last. Anor barely glances at them, just like he barely glanced at anyone else that Celtru introduced. Whatever his species is, he’s not very polite.

“Executor Anor is a high official from his homeworld and we are honored to be graced by his presence at our little affair,” Celtru tells the assembled guests.

“Which homeworld is that, if I may ask?” inquires one of the Wavering Oeklass, goggling solemnly at Anor.

Anor cracks a mirthless smile, displaying rows of sharp teeth. “You won’t have heard of it,” he replies in fluent Huttese. “It is very far from this system.” The smile is quick to disappear as he turns back to Celtru. “Advisor, I require a word.”

Celtru pales. “What? Now?” His shifty gaze darts around and he clears his throat. “I mean, er, yes, of course, Executor.”

The band strikes up a new tune, slower and more delicate this time. Acting fast, Rey grabs Ben’s arm and ferries him off to the dance floor.

“What are you…” He trails off, his brow wrinkling in confusion as she takes a cue from the other couples and shuffles him around awkwardly.

She transmits her plan to him via their mental link. Understanding dawns on his face. And then he…

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have come as such a shock that Ben Solo knows how to dance. He is Leia Organa’s son, after all. But still—Rey nearly jumps out of her bones when he takes control, pressing his right palm to her back so that they’re unnervingly close together, lacing the fingers of his free hand through the gaps in hers.

“Follow my lead,” he hums against her temple.

And they sway to the music. And it’s unlike anything that Rey has ever experienced before.

No—that’s not entirely accurate. Her feet move in tandem with his, their hearts beating loudly in the Force. The bond sings between them, and through it she anticipates where he steps, where to go. Their bodies in perfect sync. His dark eyes are all that she sees.

It’s like dueling. They waltz across the stone floors of the _kajidii’_ s fortress and the past blossoms all around them. The forest, his quarters, the storm-tossed ocean. He spins her around and brings her back to him, her hips sliding against his, and she thinks of how they’ve fought at each other’s side, too. Snoke’s throne room. The Sith Eternal’s Citadel. There is no one else who understands the way she navigates the galaxy in her skin. There is no one else who can take her as high as she can go.

Her hand slides down his bare chest. He swallows, squeezing those fingers of hers that are intertwined with his. His other hand—the one that’s on her back—slides lower, caressing her spine. Rey shivers, her breathing ragged, her mouth dry, her head fogged up from how good Ben smells and how warm he is against her.

He turns them around, in time to the music, and out of the corner of her eye she glimpses Celtru and Anor leaving the ballroom through a side exit.

_They’re off,_ she tells Ben in the silent language of the connection that’s theirs alone.

They give it a few more minutes in order to allay suspicion, during which Rey focuses on attuning herself to Celtru Wes’ energy signature. It is not as luminescent to her as Force-sensitive ones are, but it is distinct. Sharp with the canniness that propelled him to Durga’s right hand, murky with secrets. In her mind’s eye he moves further and further away from the ballroom, the absence of what should have been another energy signature beside him such a palpable thing. And then he stops.

Time to go.

Rey and Ben leave the dance floor, making a show of heading to the nearest server droid for more drinks. They hold hands as they walk and he reaches over and brushes her hair away from her shoulder in a gesture that is rather more affectionate than necessary.

“It’s so strange to pretend when you actually do mean it,” she muses, dimpling shyly up at him.

Ben smiles in response but it is… _wan._ It almost stops her heart cold until she realizes that she’s worrying for nothing. He’s probably just as anxious as she is. Wondering if they’ll be able to pull this off and escape Durga’s palace in one piece.

They knock back their drinks and then slip out via the same discreet exit that Celtru and Anor had. The hallway that they step into is narrow and dark, the sounds of the party receding into the stone walls as they venture further in.

Rey signals Ben to stop walking once she senses Celtru’s presence behind a closed door up ahead. It’s impossible to discern any hint of conversation from out here in the hallway, so they steal into the adjoining room, which is mercifully unoccupied.

It’s a small chamber and there is no door. Judging from the benches along the walls and a caf machine and some cups on a table in the corner, it’s a waiting area of some sort—probably for people who have business with Celtru, the room that he’s in right now most likely his office.

Ben offers a short nod in agreement even though Rey hasn’t said anything out loud. They’re communicating solely through the bond, conscious that they might be overheard by Celtru and Anor or by anyone among Durga’s cronies and guests who might head into this wing of the palace.

There seems to be more danger of the latter happening. The wall between the office and the waiting room is thick; even when she presses her ear to it, Rey can’t make out any sounds whatsoever.

She looks around for a vent that she can squeeze through, or something like that, but not such luck. In hindsight, it stands to reason that the kajidics would have safeguards against potential eavesdropping, and she curses inwardly. They’re going to fail this mission because she’d neglected to account for simple variables, she’s always messing up, she’s always letting people down, it’s just like Atollon again, so many died because of her and more will—

Ben rests a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t realized how rapid her breathing had become in the last few seconds. Rey inhales, shuddering, making herself calm down even though it’s like pulling teeth. The steady weight of his touch is an anchor even as his confusion is apparent.

_Rey._ He calls her name in the Force. He prods at their bond. And suddenly she is—

—filled with _resentment._

It is fleeting, to be sure, but it is there. Why does _he_ get to retreat behind his mental shields whenever he finds it convenient…

No. She can’t be angry. She’s already wasted so much time being angry with him.

And he’d died because of her, too.

Ben draws back from attempting to tap on her thoughts, as if picking up on her reticence. Instead, he projects through their connection what he wants her to do. What he thinks that both of them should try.

Rey lifts an eyebrow. It’s not a technique that she’s heard of before, but it might just work. In fact, it’s actually a really good idea.

_You don’t have to seem so surprised,_ Ben huffs. _Let us proceed. Just do what I do._

☾✩☽

It’s no small feat to magnify the senses. The old Jedi texts and holocrons that Ben had studied have been largely unanimous in their belief that it’s counterintuitive for those who walk with the unique perspective imbued by the Force to utilize it for enhancing what is mundane, what is used every day, what is grounded in the physical realm. But it _is_ possible, and Ben guides Rey through the meditation pattern that is required to accomplish it. He knows the theory well enough but he has never before managed to successfully practice this skill. There’s just too much noise in the universe, too many atoms to see the way through.

This time, though, it’s different. With Rey in his head, it is somehow so easy. The bond slices through the darkness as radiantly as a solar flare, thrumming with the raw power of a dyad unseen for centuries. When they’re by each other’s side, they can do anything, they can _be_ anything. The Force parts between them like a mighty yet conquered sea.

The voices in Celtru’s office gradually become more audible. Ben drops his hand from Rey’s shoulder, pressing it to the wall. She follows suit. They listen, their sense of hearing amplified to the point that it’s as sharp as a razor.

Ben should never have doubted that he and Rey would be able to pull it off. They’ve always been stronger together.

☾✩☽

Celtru and Anor’s voices come through as audibly as though the wall has thinned. Rey can hear everything, even the beat of their hearts when she pushes a little further. Since Anor for some reason lacks a presence in the Force, she hadn’t expected that this would work on him as well.

Although—it’s not really working on _him,_ is it? It’s _her_ senses that have been enhanced.

“… encountered some resistance,” Anor is telling Celtru. “From the territories under the Jahibakti kajidic’s jurisdiction. They do not wish to cede any shred of control, however minimal.”

“I apologize,” says Celtru. “Grakkus is a wildcard. The other _lorda_ have had half a mind to kick him out of the Cartel since he returned from his stint at Megalox.”

“It was Poe Dameron who helped him escape that place, was it not? Perhaps Grakkus feels that he is in the general’s debt?” There’s a pause that’s soon swallowed up by a soft chuckle. “You are shocked, advisor! Did you really think that we wouldn’t have spent all these years sending out scouts and gathering intelligence before making our move? We have been planning this for a very long time.”

“I’ll talk to Lord Durga.” Celtru’s tone is cool. He had obviously not enjoyed being caught off-guard. “He will exert the necessary pressure and Grakkus will be brought to heel. You have my word.”

“See to it. Promptly. We are almost ready to—”

_Guards. Incoming._

Ben’s warning causes pinpricks of ice to shoot through Rey’s veins. She’d been so wrapped up in Celtru and Anor’s conversation—so preoccupied trying to decipher it—that she hadn’t heard the thunder of footsteps approaching.

The pace is steady and mechanical; it’s a routine patrol. However, she and Ben are still somewhere that they shouldn’t be and they will be spotted once the guards pass by the open waiting area. They’ll be questioned as to why they’re skulking around beside Celtru Wes’ office.

And Finn and Rose will be breaking Jannah out any moment now, if they haven’t already.

They are out of options. Out of time. The guards will take a few more steps and see them—

Rey yanks Ben’s collar down toward her. He stoops while she surges up on her toes, his lips parting in a gold-flecked _o_ of surprise right before she crashes her own against them.

_Um—_ His end of their link comes alive with pleasure, as well as consternation— _what—_

“Just go with it,” she mumbles into his mouth.

And he picks up quickly, doesn’t he, he always has when it comes to her, he relaxes and at the same time takes control, wrapping his strong arms around her and chasing the taste of her lips with his clever, velvety tongue.

The gold that the courtesans had dusted Ben with is edible, and it’s as sweet as sugar—which, Rey has to admit, is a nice touch. She’s always liked sweet things. She leans in closer, as close to him as she can get, lapping it all up. Her left hand clutches at the lush waves of his hair while the palm of her right slides down his bare chest, savoring smooth skin and hard muscle. His heart is a drum at her fingertips and she is so overwhelmed by him, he burns through her like wildfire.

“Rey,” Ben groans, pressing her up against the same wall they’d been listening through. His broad, solid frame caging her in. He gropes her recklessly, inelegantly, shoving underneath her short skirt, cupping her ass, squeezing until she whimpers, his clumsy fumbling only serving to stoke her own desperation. “Rey,” he says again, this time panting out her name against the corner of her mouth, his breath hot on her skin, “Rey, _cyar’ika,_ I love—”

_“Kee chai chai cun kuta?”_

The gruff voice explodes from somewhere that, to Rey’s clouded senses, is so far away that it might as well have been another plane of existence entirely.

Ben sneaks in one last kiss—this time to the tip of her nose—before lifting his head and turning to the source of the exclamation, still embracing her. Over his shoulder Rey sees five stout Gamorreans hulking in the open threshold, brandishing war axes, their close-set eyes narrowed even further in suspicion.

“Yes, what is it?” Ben calls out, managing to sound amused and annoyed at the same time. “As you can see, we’re a little occupied at the moment.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” grunts the largest of the Gamorreans. “This wing’s off-limits to party guests.”

“Oh—sorry,” Rey says with a giggle. She doesn’t have to fake her flushed cheeks or her ragged gasps. It’s so strange to pretend when you mean it. “We just wanted to be alone.”

“Yeah, well, go and be alone somewhere else.” The same guard waves a meaty green hand in the direction of the ballroom, then he and his compatriots wait stonily for what they assume are the erstwhile but harmless trespassers to get a move on.

Rey extricates herself from Ben, both of them silently calculating how to take out all five Gamorreans without alerting Celtru and Anor. It has to be soundless and it has to be quick. They need more information; whatever Anor and his “we” are cooking up, Rey doesn’t have a good feeling about it at _all._

Unfortunately, no sooner have she and Ben stepped back out into the hallway when there’s the creak of a heavy wooden door swinging open and Celtru pokes his head out of his office, lekku twitching.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demands.

Rey pastes on a cheerful yet conciliatory smile. “Matias and I are _terribly_ sorry to have disturbed you, Advisor Wes. We got a little carried away.” She fans herself while batting her lashes at Ben, leaving no room for doubt as to what exactly they’d gotten carried away doing. “Stars, I’m so embarrassed—”

Celtru stumbles as he’s shouldered aside by Anor, who emerges from the office and seems to fill the hallway with his imposing presence. His icy blue right eye levels Rey and Ben with a penetrating stare while the left one that looks like it doesn’t belong in his body skitters around, appraising and suspect.

He nods to the guards. “Restrain and search them.”

Two Gamorreans grab hold of each of Rey’s arms while two more do the same to Ben. The fifth one starts patting Rey down roughly, and Ben looks ready to _kill,_ his end of the bond flashing with rage. She meets his murderous gaze and offers a barely perceptible shake of her head as she uses a subtle mind trick on the Gamorrean so that he doesn’t register the feel of the lightsaber strapped to her thigh. 

“There is no need for this, surely!” Celtru blusters, clearly torn between wanting to cooperate with Anor and _not_ wanting to botch a lucrative business deal with Matias Straden. “They’ve explained—”

“Advisor Wes, a spy was recently caught among your ranks,” Anor interrupts. “I was born into the intendant caste, where most of our battles are fought with cutthroat cunning. One of the first things we learn is that genuine coincidences are few and far between.”

“The spy has already admitted to being in the service of another kajidic,” argues Celtru. “It’s only a matter of time before she cracks and tells us which one. This has all been one big misunderstanding. See, there is nothing on Madame Fel’s person that could suggest…” He turns to Ben, wringing his hands. “My dear Matias, I truly apologize—”

“It’s all right,” Ben says, reverting to looking bored as the guard moves on to frisking him. “I’m more than happy to put the Executor’s mind at ease.”

“Then _what,”_ Anor says sharply, “pray tell, is _that?”_

Rey swears that she stops breathing.

The guard had shoved aside the folds of Ben’s cape, revealing the lightsaber strapped to his hip in its baffleweave holster. The metal hilt glints in the burnished radiance of the torches along the walls.

“Oh, this?” Ben shrugs as much as he’s able to while restrained. “It’s nothing, just my—”

He _moves._ He smashes his elbow into the ribs of the Gamorrean holding his right arm, using the Force to amplify the blow so that the latter is sent sprawling across the floor. As his liberated arm comes swinging back to him, Ben curls the hand attached to it into a fist that catches the guard who had been frisking him square in the jaw. Rey springs into action, taking advantage of the surprise of the Gamorreans restraining her to wrestle free of their grips. She kneels one in the groin and slashes at another with the lightsaber that she swiftly retrieves from her holster, then she stretches out her free hand and stuns Celtru through the currents of the Force.

The advisor had already been fleeing down the hallway, fumbling for his comlink. He drops to the floor along with the rest of the Gamorreans.

Leaving only Anor.

A gaunt rictus of a smile twists the Executor’s scarred features as Rey and Ben round on him. Ben is the one who charges first, sapphire lightsaber ablaze. Anor pulls out a serpent-headed black staff from the folds of his cloak and effortlessly clashes it against the humming plasma blade.

He is strong. Unnaturally so. He flings his opponent away from him as though Ben is nothing more than a leaf on the wind.

Rey cries out as Ben hits the wall and crumples to the floor. She falls upon Anor in a series of fast, relentless strikes, the yellow beam of her lightsaber sending up sparks every time it collides with the Executor’s black staff. Anor is driven back across the length of the hallway, but it’s like—

—it’s like he’s _letting_ it happen. Like he’s putting Rey through her paces, all while observing her attempts to land a blow with thinly veiled amusement.

And Rey _is_ attempting to land a blow. Again and again and again. But Anor is so much faster than she is, always two steps ahead, his every move calculated and precise. It is both a sinking and chilling realization, that if he were _really_ trying, she’d be on the losing end.

Ben wades back into the fray. They take the Executor on together, fighting with the same seamless rhythm that they’d eventually fallen into in the ballroom. Their foe’s smile widens as he fends them off, and there’s something about the shifts in angle, the way the serpent-headed staff blocks when it shouldn’t have been able to, that makes Rey suspect that it, too, is moving of its own accord. Like Anor’s amor, like his left eye.

Anor sends Ben stumbling backward with the punch of a heavy, armored fist to the gut. Rey attacks from the opposite direction, with an overhead swing that she brings down on Anor’s head. He doesn’t have time to dodge or to turn and block, of that she is sure—

His wrist flicks toward her. The black staff lashes out, fluid and pliant, and it’s no longer a staff but a whip, wrapping around her lightsaber’s hilt. She instinctively splays out her off-hand in front of his head, reaching through the Force to knock him unconscious…

But, even with her senses sharpened to crystal clarity by the adrenaline of combat, he doesn’t have an energy signature.

It doesn’t work.

And _she_ is the one who doesn’t have time—to either wrestle her lightsaber out of his strange weapon’s coils or to let go of it entirely.

He hurls her at Ben, who’d been in the process of stepping into a new offensive. The two of them crash to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs—just a couple of feet away from Celtru Wes’ sprawled, eerily still form—and the whip releases her lightsaber, darting back to Anor’s side in the shape of a staff once more.

Rey’s pretty certain that she hit her head on the stone tiles. Her ears are ringing and her vision’s gone blurry and dim. As Ben gets back up and launches himself at Anor with bullheaded determination, the comlink tucked into the neckline of Rey’s dress beeps to life. She fishes it out, cupping it in her palm and pressing it close to her ear so that its transmission won’t be overheard.

**_“We’re on our way to the east tower!”_** Finn is shouting over what sounds like a volley of blaster fire. **_“The alarm’s been raised—we need to go!”_**

****

Rey ends the comm, her mind racing. She looks over at Ben and Anor, who are staring each other down over the intersection of weapons locked together, straining into each other. As Rey watches, the serpent’s head on Anor’s staff suddenly rears up, opening its jaws wide, sinking sharp fangs into Ben’s cheek.

He doesn’t scream, but his end of the bond flares bright-hot with pain as he twists away from Anor. Tears spring to Rey’s eyes and she starts to shake, she has to get Ben out of here as soon as possible, she can’t lose him again—

From where she’s laying crumpled on the floor, Rey sends out a powerful telekinetic blast that is meant to knock Anor off of his feet. But she might as well have tried to push a boulder with her bare hands; Anor doesn’t so much as stumble. She chokes on a sob—if she can’t use the Force then she is nothing, she is good for nothing—

_But you’ll still be everything to me._

Ben’s voice in her head breaks through her scattered thoughts, deep and resonant even as he swings at Anor again. It is steadier than any anchor, strengthening her resolve. The bond sings blessed and sweet, the way it had on Exegol when she saw him through it for the last time.

Or what had been the last time.

She can’t fail this mission. She can’t fail _him._

Rey waits for the right moment. Waits until Ben has kicked Anor away from him. The Executor is panting a little and looking all the more pleased for it, as if he enjoys the act of fighting itself.

Rey waits until there is distance between Ben and Anor. And then she closes her eyes and her arm slashes through the air—

—and a wide swath of the stone ceiling comes crashing _down._

There is little fanfare to it. Anor simply disappears from view behind a cascade of swiftly descending rubble and Rey can only hope that at least _some_ of it falls on him. As the very foundations of this wing of Durga’s palace start to quake, she crawls toward the unconscious Celtru and presses her fingers to his temple. She rips what she needs out of his head.

It's so easy, with the advisor not awake to resist. The information that she’s after comes to her in a flood and she draws back in horror once she’s taken all that he can offer and the rest of the ceiling begins to give way.

Ben rushes over to her and helps her to her feet. “They’re—they’re called the Yuuzhan Vong,” Rey gasps out, gripping his hand so tightly that her knuckles clench to white. “They’re from beyond the galaxy—they’re here to invade us—”

Dust is raining down all around them and as she straightens up she’s frantically scanning Ben from head to toe, cataloguing what injuries she needs to heal after they’ve escaped. And it’s because she’s focusing all her attention on him that she notices it.

The resignation on his blood-spattered features. The flatness in his dark eyes. The utter absence of any hint of surprise in his energy signature.

The guilt.

And that’s when everything starts to make sense, everything that she’d observed about him since he returned to her and all his strangeness today slotting together like the pieces of some terrible puzzle.

“You already knew,” Rey says dully.

Ben nods, slow and pained.

She lets go of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Magnify Senses](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Magnify_Senses).
> 
> [Grakkus Jahibakti Tingi](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Grakkus_Jahibakti_Tingi).
> 
> [Megalox](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Megalox).
> 
> _"Kee chai chai cun kuta?"_ is Huttese for "What are you doing here?"
> 
> **The following links are provided for reference but those who don't want to be spoiled for several upcoming plot points might wish to steer clear:**
> 
> [The Yuuzhan Vong](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Yuuzhan_Vong).
> 
> [Nom Anor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nom_Anor).
> 
> [Intendant caste](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Intendant_caste).
> 
> [Tsaisi](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Tsaisi).


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting February with an update 🙌 ~~I should also be able to give you guys a final chapter count with the next installment. DON'T LOOK AT ME.~~ As always, thanks for all your continued support and encouragement!

Her fingers slip from his grasp like water, like all that he has lost.

The roof is caving in. There is no time to say sorry, to explain himself. Now that his actions are starting to bear consequence, it is dawning on him that he doesn’t deserve her forgiveness—in this as in so much else.

They run. Away from the ballroom, the path to which is now sealed off by the blocks that had fallen into the space between him and Anor. Out of the shaking corridor and through a labyrinth of winding hallways and cavernous chambers that echo with the sound of alarm bells. Blood is dripping down his cheek, the deep wounds that the snake’s fangs had gouged into his skin throbbing with a dull pain.

And it _had_ been a snake. Ben hadn’t been able to believe it at first, but the Executor’s staff had been the body of a snake—he’d seen the coiling of muscle beneath dusty black scales as the beam of his lightsaber crashed into it—and what had looked like a carving of a serpent’s head had been the real thing. The warm, metallic-tasting liquid trickling into the corner of his mouth can attest to _that._

Not to mention the fact that Anor fought like some kind of hellish, unstoppable, lightning-fast juggernaut from the pits of nightmare. Ben and Rey had simply been no match for him.

They’d been woefully unprepared. And it’s all Ben’s fault.

The guilt is so crushing that it makes him lightheaded even as it’s as though the bones in his legs have been replaced with lead, which has never before happened whenever he was drowning in regret but, then again, he’d only experienced a regret as piercing as this the day he killed his father. He pushes himself past the feeling, pushes himself to run faster, to keep watch over Rey. He has to get her out of here. Out of what he has led her to.

Almost everyone in Durga’s palace is in the ballroom, attending the party or standing guard or entertaining the guests—or slaving away in the kitchens to push out a steady stream of food and drink. Ben and Rey don’t encounter anyone until they’re in the east wing, Finn’s Force-sensitive energy signature glowing faintly like a shrouded beacon several levels above them.

And there’s something else, too. _Someone_ else, the Force wrapping around them like light. Not as distinctly as Rey’s or even as Finn’s, but—awakening.

_Jannah,_ Ben realizes.

They bump into a squad of armored Gamorreans as soon as they reach the landing on the third floor. Lightsabers blazing, Ben and Rey cut through them and then through the next wave and then another. The guards are amassing in this wing, clearly directed to chase after Finn, Rose, and Jannah. Rey fights with a fury that Ben hasn’t seen from her since the war; she swings and she slashes, she uses the Force to choke and to shove and to knock unconscious. Hell, she _barely_ needs his help.

It's when he sees her knee a guard in the groin two more times than she actually needed to that Ben pauses in the act of punching the opponent that he’s currently trapped in a headlock, a chill shooting down his spine. Is she… imagining that the guards are _him?_ He watches the Gamorrean crumple to the floor, curled up and spasming in abject pain.

He sure hopes not.

When they finally make it to the topmost level of the east wing—the tower—it is a large circular space enclosed within the domed structure that juts out from the main rotunda. The guards are facing away from the stairs, laying siege with their basters to the lone room that Finn, Rose, and Jannah have holed up in. Ben and Rey take out two each before they are noticed, and the rest turn around and open fire. Ben whips out his off-hand and seizes every single blaster bolt through the Force, holding them still, launching them back the way they’d come from at the same time that Rey hurls herself forward, hacking at the Gamorreans who manage to evade the redirected volley.

Finn pokes his head out from the room’s open doorway. “Nice of you two to finally join us!” he snaps before ducking to avoid a fresh stream of ammunition.

“Switch off, we came as fast as we could!” Rey yells, rounding on the guard who had fired at Finn and kicking the blaster away. “Kriffing _jerk—”_

Finn pokes his head out again, blinking in confusion as Rey viciously beats the guard to a pulp.

Ben valiantly ignores the exchange and he also tries very hard not to notice that Rey is concentrating her kicks and punches on _this_ guard’s groin as well. There isn’t much opportunity to react to it, in any case, because more Gamorreans come swarming up the stairs and into the tower.

Rey engages them immediately, her yellow lightsaber a merciless blur through their ranks.

“A little help?” Ben calls to Finn.

“I’m out of juice!” Finn waves his for all intents and purposes useless blaster in the air to emphasize his point. “Jannah’s in bad shape so Rose is seeing to her, but Poe’s on his way—just hold them off for a bit!”

“Wonderful,” Ben mutters under his breath.

Two Gamorreans attack him at the same time. One meaty fist catches him in the jaw and he sees stars. The world spins as he ducks low and pivots on his heel to avoid the war axe that the other guard brings down over his head—and it doesn’t stop spinning, even after he’s telekinetically blasted the other guard off of his feet and sent him flying into his cohort and runs his lightsaber through them both.

Huh. Now that he actually thinks about it, he’s kind of a bad way. His legs feel heavier and the lightheadedness has gotten worse. The gash on his cheek is _burning._

The tower starts to shake. At first, Ben thinks that it’s merely happening inside his head, the combination of pain and this strange nausea affecting his sense of balance, but, no—Rey and the remaining Gamorreans also stumble, momentarily glancing around in confusion.

_The ceiling,_ Ben remembers. That patch of ceiling downstairs, in the hallway next to the ballroom. The one that Rey had sent crashing down. The cracks have widened and they’re multiplying and reverberating throughout the rest of the ancient stone. The foundations of Durga’s palace are collapsing around the faultline.

“Our ride’s here!” Finn shouts over the rumbling cacophony.

Rey acts like she hasn’t heard him, taking advantage of the Gamorrean’s bewilderment to dispatch three more of them, her teeth bared in a snarl.

Ben makes a split-second decision. He rushes over to Rey and picks her up, tossing her over one shoulder. She screeches indignantly but he ignores it, sending out a blast of Force energy that knocks all the guards backward before he makes a break for the tower room that Finn, Rose, and Jannah are in.

A slim, curly-haired woman dressed in prisoner’s rags is sitting on the floor by a huge transparisteel window. Jannah. She’s grimacing in pain as Rose holds a scrap of fabric torn from the skirt of her formal dress to her stomach; it’s already soaked through with blood. Beyond the window is the solar yacht, Poe busy firing what meager artillery it has at a couple of Dunelizard starfighters.

Jannah’s dark eyes widen at the sight of Ben. _“You!”_

She tries to stand up, tries to grab for the blaster that’s on the floor and had obviously been liberated from a guard, but Rose pushes her down and keeps on applying pressure to her stomach.

“It’s okay,” she tells Jannah. “Hold still or you’ll aggravate your injury—”

“But—but that’s Kylo Ren!” Jannah sputters.

“Yes, he’s the other asset we told you about earlier—”

_“But it’s Kylo Ren!”_

Ben’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach. Rey had told him that Jannah is a former stormtrooper but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that she’d apparently seen him unmasked. He hasn’t been referred to by that name in a while, and some small, foolish part of him had hoped that he never would be again.

But he can’t let himself get dragged down by the weight of his former sins. Not at this moment. Rey is still struggling over his shoulder, the east tower is about to collapse, the ship that is their only means of escape is under attack, and the Gamorreans that he’d knocked back have rallied and are starting to advance.

Finn pulls out a fragmentation grenade from the folds of his ornate purple cape. Ben gapes at him. “You couldn’t have thrown that earlier?”

Finn rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t know that you _wanted_ to get blown up along with the guards.”

He hurls the grenade through the open threshold at the same time that Ben sends the Force ramming through the window. The air is torn apart by an explosion, by the screams of the Gamorreans, by the shatter of transparisteel that lets in the sound of the laser cannons from the dogfight outside. Rey turns herself around as best as she can, basically looping her torso around Ben’s neck; he grunts as the toe of her boot digs into his kidney and she pays him no mind, stretching her arm toward the open sky.

Through the Force, through the bond, Ben feels Rey grab hold of the two starfighter pilots’ consciousness. A wash of darkness crawls over her energy signature—fleeting, but intense enough that he would have reeled from it if he hadn’t been afraid to drop her.

Both pilots are knocked out cold in their cockpits. Their starfighters stop firing at the yacht and careen in opposite directions, down to the swamp below, out of sight.

It had needed to be dark for Rey to channel it as strongly and as aggressively as she had. For her to have achieved that kind of reach. But Ben still doesn’t like it because he’s all too aware where it had come from. What she’d tapped into to feed it.

Her anger at him. Her sense of betrayal. These things are primal, and they belong to the dark side of the Force. And it’s like being catapulted into the past, into the very early days and a little into the last year of his first life, when they hadn’t been stronger together but she’d been stronger because of him, because he brought out the worst in her.

The walls are rocking noticeably—not from the grenade but from the quake that is tearing through the rest of Durga’s palace. Poe brings the yacht down low, opening its canopy, and Finn and Rose push Jannah out the opening in the tower window that Ben had carved and then they hop out after her, the three of them landing squarely inside the ship.

Ben brings up the rear, shifting Rey in his arms so that he’s carrying her the same way he had through the Takodana forest, so long ago. Her arms instinctively tighten around his neck and he savors this, savors it for the one final time that it is, because there is no coming back from what he’s done in this, his second life. He _jumps—_

—and there is the rush of air and sky, the green-tinted sunlight filtering through the loosened strands of Rey’s chestnut hair, the fetid lushness of Nal Hutta rising up to meet them—

They fall into the yacht.

Right into—

“Solo! Get off!” Poe yells in sheer outrage, trying to kick Ben and Rey off of his lap at the same time that he also tries to pull the ship up into a steep climb. Ben grunts as he and Rey tumble to the floor, and for him the world is spinning even more madly now, although perhaps that’s just their pilot’s erratic flying—

Rey untangles herself from Ben with alarming celerity, jumping to her feet and throwing in a fiery hazel glare at his crumpled form for good measure. He manages to pull himself into a sitting position but otherwise stays where he is, his vision swimming with the stars of pain and nausea, his skin as cold as though he’s been doused in ice water even while the snakebite on his cheek burns like fire.

Ben glances over his shoulder, out the transparisteel panel woven into the solar yacht’s hull that he’s leaning against. They are flying away from a scene of total destruction, the mighty pillars of Durga the Hutt’s once proud fortress sinking into the bog as the main building continuously spews out streams of tiny figures fleeing for their lives. Durga’s considerable bulk is also visible from above, although as Ben watches through his dimming, faltering eyesight, the slaves are quick to drop the palanquin and make a run for it while the crime lord flails in the muck.

“I really, _really_ hope that the Cartel never finds out it was us,” Poe declares as he steers their ship up into the black. “That would set diplomatic relations back by _centuries.”_

☾✩☽

Once they have made it safely to the hyperlane and the viewport is replete with starlines, Rey sets about to tending the wounded.

Her every instinct is screaming at her to take care of Ben—as furious with him as she is, she still can’t bear the open gash on his face—but Jannah has to go first, she’s bleeding profusely from her stomach. “War axe,” Rose tells Rey quietly as the two of them crouch over Jannah while Finn holds her down. “Finn and I were able to get past the guards in the dungeons with no problem—they were drunk, they’d smuggled in a liquor keg from the celebration—and it didn’t take me long to pick the lock with my datadagger, but we ran into a patrol on our way to the east wing.”

“Mmm, I don’t know _how_ they couldn’t have bought it that I was also a party guest who got beer spilled on my fancy clothes,” Jannah quips, rolling her eyes at Finn.

“I panicked, all right?” he says hotly.

Her answering smirk fades into a pained hiss as Rey borrows Rose’s datadagger and uses it to cut away at the blood-soaked fabric of her prisoner’s rags, revealing the nasty axe wound underneath in all its entirety. It’s the most serious injury that Rey has had to deal with in a while—such a far cry from setting bones and cooling fevers back on Tatooine—and she has to take a deep breath in order to steady herself before sending gentle bursts of healing energy through Jannah’s mangled skin and internal organs.

Jannah doesn’t relax once she’s no longer on the verge of bleeding to death. Instead, her gaze falls on a point over Rey’s shoulder and she narrows her eyes. “Right. As I was saying,” she mutters, “that’s _Kylo Ren—_ why the f—”

“His name is Ben,” Rey firmly interrupts. “Ben Solo.”

Jannah shivers. “We weren’t allowed to say that name,” she explains when Rey shoots her a quizzical glance. “Snoke forbade it.”

“Well, Snoke is dead.” Rey pours the Force into the last remaining split-open inch of Jannah’s stomach. “And so is Kylo Ren, for that matter. He’s just Ben Solo now. Even if,” she raises her voice slightly, “he is in _so much trouble.”_

Finn, Rose, and Jannah blink. At the corner of her eye, Rey sees Poe spin the pilot seat around to face them, intrigued by this new development.

“Why is Solo in trouble?” Finn asks, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Before Rey can muster any sort of response, there is a dry, chuckling rasp from behind her. She turns to Ben, practically vibrating with rage. How _dare_ he laugh—

She stifles a sharp gasp.

Ben is slumped down by the wall of the cockpit. He is paler than usual, practically as white as a sheet. The snakebite on his cheek looks infected in a way that should be impossible for an injury that’s not even two hours old. There is a spiderweb of visible black veins spreading out from where the skin had torn. He is trembling, drenched in sweat.

All of Rey’s anger evaporates, giving way to terror. She hurries over to him and no sooner has she sat down in front of him when he collapses forward, into her arms. Now that she’s paying attention, now that she’s no longer shutting herself off from him in her fit of pique, his end of the bond is weak, its light diminishing with every second that passes.

“Ben.” She barely recognizes the sound of her own voice, it’s plaintive and wracked by unshed tears. She is also shaking as she tips his chin back to peruse his face, to send the Force through his wound, to heal, to heal, to save him, to do what she hadn’t been able to on Exegol. “Ben, what’s…”

Rey trails off. He is unconscious, but there is a fitful fluttering behind his closed eyelids. His skin is cold to her touch. The Force surges, and it’s like jagged, icy claws have wrapped around her heart as she realizes what’s wrong, why the effects of the bite are so inordinately severe.

_Poison._

☾✩☽

The _Baanu Miir_ pulses in the depths of space, its spiral arms twitching as it spins on its axis. A partition opens up in the craggy hull made from yorik coral, granting access to the glossy black corvette that has just left Nal Hutta’s orbit.

A few minutes later, Nom Anor and his nine comrades have left the docking bay and are walking down the _Baanu Miir’_ s dimly lit corridors, the walls of which rustle in the dark. The doors between hallways are slower to part than they had been a week ago, and Anor heaves a sigh.

“The rikyam is losing more and more control over its functions with each passing day,” he observes. “This ship will need to be vacated soon.”

“She had a good run,” says Neeka Sot, the female assassin walking beside him with soundless steps.

Anor nods his assent. The _Baanu Miir_ is one of the oldest _Koros-Strohna;_ it has spent nearly a millennium in the void between galaxies. It had been one of the first vessels that the fleet moved into the Y’Toub system because if they’d waited any longer the steady deterioration of its dovin basals would have made it unable to enter darkspace without tearing itself apart.

This particular worldship is dying. But it has served its purpose in bringing its people to the shores of what would be their new home.

Anor requests a word with Neeka in private. Their eight companions fall away—all warrior caste, good at following orders, even if they must be wondering how exactly Durga’s palace came crashing down over their heads in the middle of an innocuous celebration.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Neeka asks Anor once they’ve found a vacant room and sealed the entrance behind them.

Anor nods. “Yes. And I have a job for you as well.”

Neeka waits expectantly, her silver eyes flashing against her tattooed violet skin.

“Our information was outdated,” Anor says. “The Jedi has brought herself out of exile. She was on Nal Hutta, and there was another one with her.”

Neeka frowns. “Two Jedi, then? Could there be more? Perhaps their order _did_ survive the fall of the Old Republic.”

“I doubt it. We would have known. There was a school but it was destroyed years ago. If there _was_ a remnant of the Jedi’s former glory, it died with Luke Skywalker on Crait. The girl who was his apprentice wasn’t much up to snuff—although I was indeed caught by surprise that she had a companion. I will gather more data. And then—I need you to deal with them.” A pleased sneer illuminates the hollows of Anor’s face as he recalls his tsaisi’s fangs raking across the male Jedi’s cheek. “Or just the one, more likely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fragmentation grenade](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Fragmentation_grenade/Legends).
> 
> [G1-M4-C Dunelizard fighter](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/G1-M4-C_Dunelizard_fighter).
> 
> [Baanu Miir](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Baanu_Miir).
> 
> [Yorik coral](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Yorik_coral).
> 
> [Koros-Strohna](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Koros-Strohna).
> 
> [Dovin basal](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dovin_basal).
> 
> [Rikyam](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Rikyam).
> 
> [Darkspace](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Darkspace).
> 
> [Neeka Sot](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Neeka_Sot).


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lunar New Year and Happy Valentine's Day from my corner of the globe to yours! It's five in the morning and I'm about to fall asleep face-first into my keyboard, so we will have to make do without the usual endnotes, but all unfamiliar terms that you might find here can be referenced on [the wiki](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Main_Page). I hope that you are all having a great day and that you'll like this installment!

Poe junctions off at a new route that the Galactic Alliance had astrogated to pipe in supplies more expediently to the Outer Rim Territories, cutting the usual travel time in half. Rey spends most of the four-day journey to Naboo feeling dazed with a horror that crawls slowly, rendering her numb from the pit of her stomach to the very tips of her fingers.

She’d set herself and Ben up in one of the yacht’s three cabins and she curls around his unconscious frame when she sleeps—and such fitful sleep it is, her heart in her throat as she listens to the pattern of his breathing for any irregularities, her body jolting awake whenever he stirs or makes a sound.

Tatooine had been plagued with no shortage of venomous creatures that lurked in the rocky outcrops where people hunted and amidst the golden sands that surrounded the moisture farms. Over the course of the year that she’d lived there, Rey had perfected the technique for curing poison that was described in the ancient Jedi texts. But the snake that had bitten Ben—she’s never encountered its like before, and he’d gone without medical attention for so long…

Rey had spent ten standard hours removing all of the poison that she could sense; under her open palms it had emerged from Ben’s eerily still chest in the form of specks of black smoke, curling noxiously into the air before she dismantled them at the molecular level with a flick of her wrist. Traces linger in his bloodstream, so deeply rooted that she can’t excise them without causing irreparable damage.

There’s nothing left to do but wait and see if he can fight it off.

With hours to go before planetfall, Rey is perched on the edge of the mattress, staring at Ben as he sleeps. The icy light of the celestial wastes in the Chommell sector filters in through the viewport, glossing his features in silver. She’d wrestled him into the black sweater and loose trousers that constituted the change of clothes he’d brought onto the yacht, and he looks so much like he had on Exegol that she wants to scream from it. There is a slight frown on his face, relaxed though it is in repose. She’s just straightened up from pressing her ear to his chest to reassure herself that he’s still breathing.

_I’m so stupid,_ she thinks. _I never learn._ Ben had died before she learned, that first time, and now there is every danger of him slipping away again. Because she hadn’t noticed that something was wrong. Because she’d been too angry with him.

She keeps wasting every chance that they get. She destroys him and he always lets her.

“Rey.” Rose steals quietly into the cabin. “Dinner’s on the table. You should eat something. You missed breakfast and lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.” Rey doesn’t want to let Ben out of her sight. She’s afraid that he’ll wake up alone, or—or—

_No,_ she tells herself. _Most of the venom is gone. The immune systems of Force users are more proficient at neutralizing harmful substances. You know this. He is not going to die._

But the few stray bits of internal optimism that Rey can muster all ring hollow. When it comes down to it, there’s just no guarantee. And if luck runs out, as it often has, as it often must, she won’t be able to bear it if she’s not with him at the very end. _If I let Rose drag me away, I’ll come back to find him gone, I won’t be around to say goodbye, Ben will return to the Force thinking that I hated him—_

“Rey. You should eat,” Rose says again, more firmly this time. “You and Ben have a mental link, yes? You should be able to keep tabs on him from the dining area.”

Rey shakes her head mutely. She grabs Ben’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His skin is so cold, and it’s as if the chill from it lances through her being as well. _Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die._ She pours the words into the bond, his end of which she can only sense vaguely, like it is already beyond the veil that separates this plane of existence from the life after. _I love you. Don’t die._

She’s faintly aware of Rose leaving. After a few minutes, the cabin door hisses open again and Rey glances over her shoulder to find that the other woman has come back—with Finn and Jannah in tow. All three of them are holding sandwiches, and Jannah passes one to Rey with a tentative smile. She’d recovered from the axe wound with no trouble, and she and Poe have been piloting the yacht in shifts.

Rey gently lays Ben’s hand on the mattress and bites into her first meal of the day. The bread is pseudograin, somewhat cardboard-tasing, but the filling is—surprisingly delicious. Far more delicious than the usual fare that one would be able to rustle up on a voyage, on a ship that isn’t even theirs.

Finn correctly deciphers the source of Rey’s bemused expression. “Rose found ettel nut paste and Andorian jelly in the kitchenette,” he explains. “That’s as gourmet as ingredients can get while still being space-worthy. Seeing as this is Lando’s yacht, I’m not surprised at all.”

Jannah snorts, her mouth full. “He always did well for himself, that one.”

The conversation peters out. Rey would have been disinclined to contribute, in any case. She eats her sandwich with her gaze remaining fixed on the man lying before her, so unmoving that it’s gradually becoming more and more of an impossibility that he’ll open his eyes ever again.

_Just like Exegol._ The food is ash on her tongue. Ben will vanish the next time she blinks. He will leave her alone again. It will be her fault again.

Rose clears her throat. “So—Jannah’s been telling us about the Yuuzhan Vong.”

“Oh. Right.” Jannah swallows another mouthful of dinner hastily, then leans forward to fill Rey in. Rey realizes distantly that she’s barely spoken to any of them since they left Nal Hutta. “This is what I was able to find out before they caught me rifling through documents in Advisor Krannurak’s office. A lot of what I’m about to say was provided to Krannurak by his own intelligence network. You know these kajidics, they don’t trust anyone—much less far outsiders from a whole other galaxy.”

There is a brief pause.

“This is the part where you gasp,” Finn helpfully provides.

Rey nods. She’s already gathered that bit from tearing the information out of Celtru Wes’ head, but it seems like such a chore to tell the others so. It seems like such a chore to talk.

_“Anyway,”_ Jannah continues, “the Yuuzhan Vong homeworld was destroyed thousands upon thousands of standard years ago. They apparently tore it apart themselves, with all their infighting. Since then, they’ve been traveling through the Void looking for a new home. Their first probe arrived in our galaxy sometime during the Old Sith Wars—that’s the first major event of our civilization that they’re aware of, some rogue Jedi becoming the new Dark Lord of the Sith—”

Rey searches her memory for the name that she had once read amidst the sea of words that were Luke’s sacred texts.

“Exar Kun,” she finally says.

“Bless you,” Jannah cheerfully replies. “Krannurak’s investigators also unearthed an account of the ancient Mandalorians encountering something that they thought was an asteroid, but it ‘woke up.’ It fired plasma at them that was able to melt through their armor—”

Rey blinks. Mandalorian armor sells for a fortune on the black market; each piece had been crafted from beskar, the strongest metal in the galaxy. Not even a lightsaber could pierce it in one strike.

“—and then it fled back to the Void,” says Jannah. “I think that what the Mandalorians ran into was a _yorik-strohna,_ a spy ship. The description matches Krannurak’s blueprints of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet—and it’s a really, _really_ strange fleet.”

Rey’s ears prick up with interest despite herself. She has never encountered the Yuuzhan Vong’s manner of technology before and she hadn’t been able to glean any specifics about their ships from Celtru. She gives Jannah more of her attention. The other woman speaks in a hushed tone tinged with incredulity.

“Their ships are _alive._ Bioships, I suppose you can call them. They’re all made of a kind of coral that forms symbiotic relationships with other organic material to provide weapons and propulsion systems. For recycling and life support, they grow these organisms called _maw luur_ that convert waste to metal, nutrients, and air, and when the ships travel through space they unfold this— _membrane—_ that acts like a solar sail, harnessing tachyon streams and ultraviolet lasers. The largest vessels are known as _Koros-Strohna,_ worldships, each one is as big as the Death Star. Then there are the _miid ro’ik,_ the capital ships, they look sort of like whales, and their version of a starfighter is called a _yorik-et,_ it’s melded with a kind of—squid creature—thing—that fires lava cannons.”

“Lava cannons,” Rey echoes dully. Her head spins as she tries to wrap it around everything that Jannah is telling her. “Squid creatures that fire lava cannons.”

“While attached to a starfighter made of coral, yes,” Jannah supplies.

“The colossus that we saw in Nal Hutta’s orbit, that was most likely a _Koros-Strohna,”_ Rose says, and Rey nods. It makes sense, in a terrifying sort of way, why she and Ben had been able to grasp an immense, amorphous energy signature radiating from the disc-shaped, spiral-armed vessel even though they couldn’t perceive the souls onboard. The Yuuzhan Vong are somehow cut off from the Force, but their ships are living things.

Rey gulps down the last of her sandwich. She takes Ben’s hand once more and turns back to Jannah. “The—weapon that bit Ben,” she says, “it was some kind of snake. Executor Anor wielded it like a staff at first, and then a whip.”

For a second Jannah seems like she’s struggling not to raise an eyebrow at the sight of the former Supreme Leader of the First Order’s hand being held, or the fact that he was being referred to as _Ben._ But Finn gives Jannah a pointed look and her features smooth out. “Er, yeah, all of their weapons are like that. Like, _organic._ They apparently despise any form of mechanical technology, it’s an abomination that goes against their religion, or something like that. They want to eradicate all trace of it from the universe. Their armor’s actually alive, too—each one is a creature called a vonduun crab.”

“No matter how many times I hear you say that, it never gets any less disturbing,” Finn says wryly. “Those people are just walking around dressed in live crabs.”

“And being immune to Force abilities while they’re at it,” Rey mutters.

Finn blanches. “No—really?”

Rey brings him and Rose and Jannah up to speed on what had happened in the corridor off of the ballroom, how they’d managed to escape from Anor. Recounting the events feels like recounting a nightmare.

Jannah sighs. “The Yuuzhan Vong cut a deal that is so far enabling them to pass through Hutt Space unobstructed. I don’t know the specifics, but in all likelihood the Cartel simply placed their bets on what they think is the winning side.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” Rose declares with quiet vehemence. “Poe’s already sent word to the rest of High Command. Warships are being deployed to each sector as we speak. We’ll drive them back.”

“Grakkus,” Rey says, belatedly remembering more of what she and Ben had overheard of the conversation in Celtru’s office. She gets to her feet and makes contact with the yacht’s cockpit via the intercom affixed to the cabin wall. “Grakkus the Hutt,” she tells Poe without preamble. “He’s not happy about having to cooperate with the Yuuzhan Vong. He might be willing to help.”

**_“Not that guy again,”_** Poe groans. **_“All right, fine, I’ll go talk to him after dropping you guys off on Naboo. I need to inspect the border defenses, anyway.”_** There’s a brief, awkward pause. **_“How’s Solo doing?”_**

****

Rey suddenly feels as though her throat is closing up. “The same,” she says quietly.

She ends the transmission and returns to Ben’s side, brushing stray locks of dark hair back from his brow as she resumes her vigil under the watchful eyes of her friends.

Finn is the one who breaks the silence. “This is probably the _last_ thing I should be concerned about, given that we’re currently saddled with the responsibility of fending off a full-scale galactic invasion by ultrapowerful, Force-proof environmentalists, but—why were you mad at Solo?”

Something is unlocked from within the confines of Rey’s chest. Floodwaters, perhaps. The tears that she’d been holding back start to well up in her eyes. “He—he already knew. Ben already knew,” she sniffs. She grips Ben’s still hand tightly. “Even before we went to Nar Shaddaa—even before he and I went to Coruscant—he already knew what was coming. And I just—” What she’d been about to say splinters into pieces, breaks on a harsh, guttural sob that she is quick to suck in, trying for some semblance of composure. “I just don’t know why he kept it from me. I can’t figure it out, and I’m afraid that he’ll never get the chance to tell me—”

The dam is breaking. She’s so tired of carrying the weight of it all by herself. And she’s looking at Finn through the blurry rivulets of her vision, because Finn was the first friend she ever made, and she needs him to understand—

“What if he was leading all of you into a trap?” Jannah ventures. “What if he cut a deal with the Yuuzhan Vong, too?”

Rey stiffens. “That’s not—”

“The First Order is dust,” Jannah speaks over her solemnly. “I can’t think of anyone in the galaxy who has a bigger bone to pick with the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances.”

_“It’s not like that.”_ Rey’s knuckles clench to white around Ben’s cold fingers. She glances at Finn again, hoping for backup, but his expression is unreadable. And even Rose seems to be considering Jannah’s words.

The thing is, Rey can’t even blame them. Not really. For all intents and purposes, Ben had withheld critical information—had even made them all go on an unnecessary mission to retrieve said information that nearly got them killed. It hadn’t been entirely useless, as they’d rescued Jannah, but—looking at it from Finn and Rose’s point of view—Ben couldn’t have known that Lando would ask them to get her out. He would have considered it an additional but in the end irrelevant factor to the main goal of delivering the last Jedi and three high-ranking members of Galactic Alliance High Command—including General Poe Dameron himself—to the Yuuzhan Vong.

Rey shouldn’t have said anything. The others’ trust in Ben goes only as far as their goodwill toward _her._ Now, however, she can see the thoughts that Finn and Rose and Jannah are masking behind their faces. The doubts that are lurking in their eyes.

They think that her judgement isn’t sound where Ben is concerned. They think that she’s compromised by her feelings for him.

She shouldn’t have said anything. But for a moment she had felt so bewildered and so alone. She’d wanted somebody to share the weight with her.

She’d wanted to talk to her friends, not to the people in charge of a galaxy. The people who have to take everything into consideration for the sake of the continued peace and wellbeing of billions of innocent lives.

But the war has forged Finn and Poe and Rose into these roles. It has taken them down this path and there is no turning back from it. Especially with the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong looming on the horizon. And Jannah’s memories are irreconcilable with the present, the unconscious man before her the epitome of the cage that she’d broken free of when she lowered her weapon and refused to fire, just like Finn had.

Rey can’t keep asking people to turn their back on everything they stand for just to suit her whims.

She can’t keep making mistakes. She can’t continue letting her emotions get the best of her.

She forces herself to take a deep breath, tapping into what few scraps of peace are left to her and wrapping them around her being until all her confusion and her sorrow and all of this fierce, embittered love are sealed away. Buried as deeply as she’d buried the bond this past gruesome year.

“I will take responsibility for Ben Solo’s actions,” she says with calm authority. Speaking as a Jedi before Galactic Alliance officials, although she wishes that it could have been any other way. “When he wakes up and is questioned, whatever his reasons for concealing the information about the Yuuzhan Vong, I will answer for them. I’ll deal with him. You have my word.”

Finn studies her for a long while. And then he observes, “You want something in exchange.” He flashes her a rueful smile. “I know that look. That’s the look you get when you’re about to haggle.”

Rey nods. “Once we arrive on Naboo and a physician has confirmed that Ben is stable, I need to go somewhere. I’ll explain in due time,” she adds quickly before anyone can protest or interrogate her, “but I require a guarantee that he isn’t to be moved from Lando’s safe house until I get back.” There’s a part of her that quails at the thought of leaving Ben, but with her mind as clear and as sharp as crystal she knows what she has to do. She knows it the way that she knows the Force. “We’ll question Ben and—and do whatever needs to be done. But only after I get back.”

“Could you give us a hint as to where you’re going, at least?” Rose asks.

“I just need to get something,” Rey says. “Something I left behind.”

☾✩☽

Darkness. Fever. The world rolling in fire and shadow behind his closed eyes. Someone holding his hand, someone who loves him, and sunlight.

Ben wakes up to sunlight.

He’s on a soft canopy bed draped in luxurious silk sheets. The room that he’s in is airy and opulent, with a balcony that provides a stunning view of the rippling waters of some vast azure lake.

_Did I die again?_ he wonders groggily as he hauls himself into a sitting position, blinking at his surroundings. Well, this is a far nicer place than where he’d ended up last time—

His breath hitches in his throat as events come rushing back to him. Other people’s energy signatures come filtering into his perception—Finn, Rose, Jannah, and Lando are somewhere around. There are two people missing, but Ben is only concerned about one of them, Dameron could be stranded on an asteroid in Wild Space for all he cares. But he can’t sense Rey _anywhere._

Before he’s even fully oriented himself, Ben’s on his feet, determinedly pushing past the dizziness and the icy coldness of the marble floor against his bare soles. As he hurries out of the room, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over a glossy mahogany dresser—he’s in a loose gray tunic and even looser sleep pants, and there’s a bacta patch slapped over the wound that the snake’s fangs had gouged into his cheek. His hair is greasy and his complexion is tinged with the sallowness of the recently ill.

He looks, in short, like a mess, but he can’t think about that now. He has to see Rey. He has to talk to her. He has to apologize.

But he can’t find her. He tears down one elegantly appointed corridor and then another, only barely managing to avoid knocking several priceless antiques to the ground. The building is rife with terraces and huge windows, and sunlit gardens underneath tranquil blue skies glint at him as he runs. Everything is so bright and the clear air smells like resinwood and jade roses, and it’s all so yawning and _empty_ without Rey—

He skids to a halt in a rotunda with patterned tiles and velvet curtains. Jannah’s sitting in one of two high-backed chairs at a dining table in the center of the room, nursing a cup of tea—a big mouthful of which she immediately spits out at the sight of him.

“You—!” Her eyes scan the room in an obvious search for something that she can use as a weapon, but she eventually settles for wagging a finger at him. “You stay right where you are!”

“What, forever?” Ben can’t resist saying, because most of the time his father’s genes are a goddamn nuisance. Still, he plants his feet firmly on the floor and raises his hands in what he hopes is a nonthreatening manner. “Where’s Rey?”

“She’ll be back soon.” Jannah glances at her teacup like she’s contemplating whether she should smash it so that she could have something pointy to brandish at him. “So just, er, go wait in your room, yes? I’ll tell your—” Her brow creases—“your uncle that you’re up.”

“All right.” Ben looks around, a bit mystified. “I’m well aware that Lando has a preference for the finer things in life, but this is frankly overdoing it, for a safe house.”

“He’s been renting it for years,” Jannah begrudgingly explains. Ben had only made such an off-the-cuff remark to try to put her a little more at ease, but what she says next makes him wish that he’d just kept his mouth shut. “From some posh family that doesn’t use it anymore. The Naberries. It’s called Varykino.”

☾✩☽

When Rey emerges from the burned-out ruins of the Lars homestead, Tatooine’s suns are already small red half-orbs over the Great Chott salt flat. Her back hurts from having pored over her task for almost an entire day, and she hopes that it has paid off.

It had been easy to find Luke’s lightsaber again. She’d summoned it from deep beneath the sands in the same way that Ben had summoned Leia’s. What _hadn’t_ been easy had been figuring out certain mechanics and attuning the crystals. It’s time to see if her experiment had been a success.

Perhaps she should feel guilty about basically ruining a blade that’d had so much history attached to it. But if the other Yuuzhan Vong fight like Anor, she needs to be smarter and faster. She needs an edge in combat.

And she needs to make use of everything at her disposal to protect Ben. To escape from the Galactic Alliance and run away with him, if she has to. If it comes to that.

Rey closes her eyes briefly, to center herself. She retrieves the newly modified version of her lightsaber hilt from the utility belt slung around her hips. She thumbs the emitter, settling swiftly into an opening stance.

Triumph courses through her veins as plasma crackles and the desert air around her is lit on fire. The twin beams of a yellow saberstaff blaze in the violet-hued twilight.


End file.
